They Call It Grafton

I know that Grafton has not made the record books as a work camp, but let me tell you it is. Last time my Mommy was in Florida I was in the Chicopee state prison, but this time I'm in a work camp, Grafton. We rise at 5 AM and begin our choirs for the day. This week it's painting. I am forced to inhale toxic fumes and dance on command. Then at the end of the day I'm returned to my cell, where I am provided with bread and water. I am forced to listen to Dean Martin, it's a form of torture, noise pollution. I don't know how much longer I can keep up this hectic pace. I am running on nothing everyday. I try to run and hide in my cage, but I am always found.