Of course nobody wants catastrophe.
For all the drama, everyone invokes
affection, peace, domestic harmony,
sufficient stimulation. Someone jokes
about the time to study jail affords:
the space to write a novel in your cell,
the limits in the yard that pull you towards
a steady thorough workout. Truth to tell:

The lining doesn’t minimize the cloud.
What hit you was unlucky and unfair.
We’re grateful that your attitude’s unbowed.
But you no longer hulk. You’re in your chair
and rarely working. Strangers smile at you,
and you’ve new contemplations to pursue.