The Ward is a Cold Place
Albert, who is obsessive, never tires
Of showing me his bureau drawers,
His socks neatly folded, his comb just so.
Albert has been here a very long time.
He is fully institutionalized, absorbed
By the place, wearing the signature cast-off,
Ill-fitting clothes, the pallid complexion,
The bad haircut, the need to spend quality time
In a dentist’s chair, and no sense
That there is a world beyond the ward.
But Albert likes routine, and in this way
It is a good match, for routine is the life-blood
Of the ward. Liking routine as he does,
He usually he enjoys his day. It makes his life,
And the staffs' life, easier. He becomes frustrated
At times, don't we all, and there are tears,
Or his version of a tantrum. What little drama
He offers is readily assuaged by a stern word,
Or a kind one, his affability is always near the surface.
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 454 times
Written on 2015-07-19 at 06:45
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