I Was in Jail With Paris Hilton

I was in jail with Paris Hilton,
but not in the same cell,
while she was receiving preferential treatment
I was catching hell!
I had to lie face-down on my bed
in order to be fed,
the food thrown at my feet,
knotted in a plastic bag.
I dared not look or take a peek,
to see if my issue was correct,
if so, the deputies at hand,
would have grabbed me by the neck,
called me names and then tossed
my bedding on the dirty floor,
and upon exiting the dorm,
only to laugh and slam the door.

I was in jail with Paris Hilton,
but was treated quite differently,
I wasn't wowed and pampered
or subject to pandering.
I was made to squat and spread my cheeks,
and raise my testes high,
roll my tongue from side to side,
kiss my dignity good-bye.

I was in jail with Paris Hilton,
but wore a different set of clothes,
that were wrinkled, torn and tattered,
and unpleasant to the nose.
The slippers issued squeezed my feet,
the shorts were twice my size,
the socks were holey and didn't match,
the t-shirts were likewise.
Her clothes were fashionably chic,
as if from some designers rack,
every stitch of clothes she wore,
fitted perfectly on her back.

The one hot meal I had each day,
was nothing to brag about,
her meals, for all I know, were catered,
due to her celebrity clout.
I bet the stars in sheriff's Baca's eyes,
are shinning to this day,
about her privileged two-week stay.

It took at least nine hours,
for my release to be processed,
and during that harrowing time,
my well-being was not addressed.
And when my feet touched the streets,
long before the crack of day,
neither satellite dishes nor TV crews
Were there to applaud my way.