The aging double murderer
who only admitted to one

salvaged extra dough
while working in the kitchen.

He spiraled it, buttered,
sprinkled, baked, sneaking

fresh cinnamon rolls
to a few of us he liked

who spoke about philosophers
& didn’t see the mafiosi in him.

This morning, I walked through
the bakery aisle at Kroger’s,

spotted those treats among
sugary breakfast pastries,

wondered if they were as good
as a killer’s, as rich with life.

In that moment, I conjured him
as if I were still in the cell

next to his, & though I knew
he must have died by now,

I decided to pay my respects
in trade for a moment of happiness

years ago.

Ace Boggess is author of eight books of poetry, most recently Tell Us How to Live
(Fernwood Press, 2025) and My Pandemic / Gratitude List (Mōtus Audāx Press, 2025).
His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Hanging
Loose, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he
writes, watches Criterion films, and tries to stay out of trouble. His first short-story
collection, Always One Mistake, is forthcoming from Running Wild Press.

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