weak ankles took me to a clinic

in the nineteen fifties.

Mum worrying enough for us both

low chairs for kids

alice in wonderland

long stinking corridors

the grim reaper in white coat

sun shining through crittall windows

brave new world.

I couldn't speak for fear

they surrounded me like interrogators

that was the nineteen fifties

sixty years later

an oste...

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They laugh in all the wrong places

turn life into a joke

often the joke is on you

but the laugh is paramount

the humour is gone

but the malady lingers on..

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