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~ Non-Norse Poetry by me ~

 

The Hospital

The smell of disinfectant
sterile or filthy ? - throw away

Anguished hope
thwarted cry for attention
painridden minds, surprised by mortality,
dragging their bodies through neonlit corridors.

Between them hover
white-coated smiles,
cheerfulness incarnate,
pale-skinned ant-hill dwellers.

Old people abed
every remaining day
converting food into shit.

When even this stops, the nurses come
with disinfectant.

2005 Michaela Macha

License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
unchanged, including the copyright notice and this License:

This work by Michaela Macha (www.odins-gift.com) is licensed
under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives License