Hospital, June

Hospital, June

An air conditioning grate
hums in the hanging ceiling,
the very same as the
sky above the arid space of a
desolate cube farm, vast
and squared, while the walls moan
anaemic green and sterile white.
High in the corner, a metallic black
bracket suspends a window to
Short Strand and Damascus,
bricks and bottles and bullets
to the tune of scratching white noise,
until those static screams swell
to the choral strophe of
a new Athenian tragedy.
Bolted solidly into the lime linoleum,
three rows of plastic blue seats
host two other than I.
An autumnal lady figure sits
in blossoming flowered blouse and
red cardigan, thick and woollen
despite the season’s graces,
sourly pursing her lips in an
affront to the young nurse working
the x-ray department desk.
Untied tennis shoes kick back and
forth rhythmically, not far
beneath a neck tilted up
towards scattered bricks and
shattered eyes in Surman and Tripoli.
As my name is called
the little girl’s gaze
does not waver, her
fair curls do not bob at all,
as she is trapped in the
moving image, an orphan
to an orphan.

June 23, 2011 | Categories: Cultural, Death, Nations, News Story, Poetry, Poetry Month, Political, Social, Waiting, War | Tags: poems about hospitals, Poetry Month | 1 Comment »