Squirrely Thoughts

So here I sit inside the jail,
Some of these guys think this is hell—
But I’ve known worse, I must confess:
See, Cuban jails are not the best.

My Bible’s here and I can read.
The food’s not bad, at least they feed.
My cell mates’ farts are quite the worst:
I hold my breath and almost burst.

How I got here, I have no clue;
But facing truth, I know I do.
I married a gold digging slut
who, like a squirrel, found a nut.

She quickly chewed the outer wood,
finding inside, the inner good.
She chewed it quick, then ran away,
for others’ nuts with which to play.