There's a phrase to give us pause -

it's what you're on, it's where you're ending.

I've read so in your case notes

while your daughter was attempting

to colour in the silence

with progress of the garden

and accomplishments of children.

An undulating pathway, to be sure;

these buttons and levers at the side

of your bed will help you to adjust.

All that's lacking is a Reverse.

 

Just a phase, do they imagine?

Like cutting teeth and teens;

rationing and air shelters;

Swing and Sinatra; seamed stockings,

breast feeding, breast cancer.

A fond glance back and the tips

of your ears blushing, your lips

creasing an embarrassed smile

as you struggle to retain your teeth.

 

What need of teeth!

A swallowing reflex defunct

as your speech and vision.

You can only listen

to the insistent dripping

of metal and plastic.

A thousand unanswered phones

are the music you die to.

 

Reduced to squeezing hands,

slight inclinations or shakes

of the head to acknowledge pain.

Yet you know when the nurses arrive

to administer Paracetamol per rectum:

the uniform hiss and swish of curtains;

the brief discussion as to whether

to first do "this one" or "the other".

You or your fellow-traveller

asleep in the adjacent bed.

 

I turn away and read the poster

that shows how best to wash one's hands;

The Mission Statement promises

which conclude by exhorting

us all to work together

for a cleaner, better future.