BETTER IN A WHILE.

A WOMAN IN A MENTAL ASYLUM IN THE 1950S

You stand against your white
metal bedstead bundled up
in a strait jacket like a neat
parcel awaiting delivery.

Your hands around your
back, out of the way like
exiled rebels. From the
barred window light
comes in, light from a
world out there, out
there where you were
once, once upon a time,
time past and time... bird
sings, can't see it, but it's
there, singing, bringing
sound, nature sounds,
unlike the bedlam noise
that screams outside, screams,
shouts, cries and moans.

Nurses bellowing names,
as if names meant anything
anymore. Any more? yes
please if you have any spare:
a voice calls out from some
place in the ward. You want
out out of this hell hole,
this asylum, this hospital
for the mentally INSANE.

You remember that written
on the gates the day they
brought you. You, your mind
in a mess, mess of memories,
memories of hits, slaps, f***s,
head slams and finger feels.

Nurse enters and gazes at you:
cooled down now? Ain't going
to flip out again? You stare at
her, the fat b***h, the uniformed
cow. Well? Have you? You
could have her, could take her
out if you weren't bundled up,
quite harmless and sick silent.

The nurse has a wart on her
chin, her eyes piggy eyes.

Ain’t you going to answer?
You smile and nod your head.

That sweet smile of yours
could get men to do things,
if you wanted to, but you
didn't want to do what the
sick f***s wanted you to do.

Piggy nurse unstraps you
slowly, you sense that
freedom, pins and needles,
and able to breathe free.

Be on your best behaviour,
nurse says, and walks off,
the lard arse swaying goes.

You will have her one day,
stuff her like a screaming
fat pig being slowly stuffed.

You smile your smile.

There, there, be better,
be better, in a while.