Sunday Morning in A&E

You sit on the hard plastic chair in A&E,
Bargaining to be set free,

He leans towards you, your hand in mine,
And asks you with a compassionate smile,

“For your granddaughter,
Will you please get in the bed”

This compassion cannot be taught in classrooms,
This is years and years of repetition,

You shake your head with vigour,
And glance behind you in fright,

There are people here that we cannot see,
Shadows not drawn away by light.

There are birds all on the floor, you say,
And a man with glowing eyes,

And the voices, they won’t stop tormenting you,
The ceiling, dark stormy skies.

Poem contributed by Nia Roberts.

Photo by Martha Dominguez de Gouveia on Unsplash.