Monday, April 13, 2015


A human being is a poem on a stick – don’t you think? That’s why I love queues. Bus queues, bank queues, supermarket queues, waiting room queues … any queue will do. I am spending a lot of time at hospital - not for me – I’m just the support act. There is time to spare and I spare it at the hospital café. Queues most of the day.

There have always been opportunities for hospital poems (unfortunately) but I’m usually quite reluctant. It’s either too close to home or too voyeuristic.

But here I am three days a week for the foreseeable and there’s nothing else for it. They’ll be scribbles and drafts and micro poems and prose poems and they might just skim over the surface … that issue of invading other people’s challenges or grief.

So anyway here’s another hospital poem for what it’s worth. Last Saturday I noticed a weekend pattern of visitors arriving in groups, sometimes with all the generations in tow. The atmosphere brightened.

If inclined, click on the Hospital Poem label in the right hand menu for others. May your own hospital visits be joyous occasions.


They steer in their elders
feet cosy in wool slippers
shawls fussed around
dressing gown shoulders
spectacles whipped from ears
or hoisted back up the nose
with a gentle finger tip
hot chocolates
vinegary chips
children with butterfly faces
a family grouped at every table
a smile at every wheelchair
Saturday afternoons

are always different

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