PURGATORYA Poem by Terry CollettINSIDE A LOCKED WARD IN 1971
When Christine heard
that he'd tried to hang himself in the men's crapper desperation bells began to ring inside her head then she saw him on the locked ward sans laces or belts or anything he may use to repeat the performance and he sat in the big chair his eyes dull and his hair untidy and with that loose hanging dressing gown minus belt and in pyjamas like some Auschwitz guy and she said what the f**k you in here for? sitting in the armchair next to him broken heart broken love lost love soul crashing through all gears to get back to base who knows? he said like that huh? join the club for what it's worth we're all fucked up here like driftwood on a lonely beach on some deserted island she said he gazed at her disinterestedly as if a gnat had landed on his hand they lock the doors here? sure do all the time what about visitors? once a week Sundays he looked at her at her dark long straggly hair her dull eyes why you here? he said some f**k left me at the altar all dressed up like some nun in white she said he must have been mad to have left you anywhere he said well he must be because he did opposite an Indian woman sat crossed legged picking at her toes a red spot on her forehead dressed in long gowns of bright colours a plump woman walked by smoking eyeing them suspiciously foul mouthing the nurse going by so how long you been here? he asked week or so how long you staying? until they say I can leave when will that be? when they think I’m better or cured or able to be balanced again when will that be? how the f**k do I know she said sorry about the language anger gets to my tongue before I do you're not going to hang yourself again are you? she asked don't know who I am any more don't know jackshit about myself whoever myself is she nodded looked at his handed in slippers the scar on his left wrist not your first time then? she said touching the scar guess not he said welcome to Purgatory she said he sensed her finger on his scar the female touch he wanted something whatever it was something to hold on to O so very much. © 2013 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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