5 Minutes in a Green Bag

Waking up to an officer standing in my door telling me to pack and you have five minutes and make sure everything fits in your green bag. I spring to my feet at a mad dash, my mind and heart beating fast. I think to myself what’s most important food or books, art supplies. What will they take, what can I keep? 

As I arrive at my new place of madness I step up to the counter. As the officer rummages through my most sacred belongings, throwing around what means the most to me as if it is just trash. Words come to mind I dare not say out of fear of repercussions. Incongruity comes to mind. What has become of my life. Can I call myself a man when I’m only being returned to as a number on a green bag.