Bake-a-yarn: The Unit

Monday, 11 July 2022

I might write a poem today

about how I just consumed a chocolate croissant

two thousand calories at least.

Or my exhaustion

that could be post-covid

if I had caught covid.

Or the mental institution I used to visit

when my friend decided

she needed electric shock treatment.

And the patient there who invited me to her wedding,

adding, "The queen's coming too,"

a gash of lipstick where her mouth should be.

And the patient tied to her wheelchair

for tearing up paper and throwing it at staff.

"You'd as soon tie down the wind as her," my friend's view on it.

And my friend telling me as she gazed through the window

that she could see chickens all walking in a line

or playing hopscotch or walking on each other's shoulders.

"I didn't know they had shoulders," her comment on it.

And the bag packed beside her bed ready for discharge.

"They're letting me out. It was the last treatment that did it."

"And what about the chickens?"

"What chickens?"