Dee-dee tugged
at the hem
of my long white coat,
as I stood
on the children's unit
of the mental hospital,
hands by my side,
looking around me.
He tugged again
with his small hand
clenched tight
on the hem.
What do you want
Dee-dee? I asked.
I looked down at him
his fingers clenched tight.
He pulled me after him,
saying nothing.
I followed him,
walking in small steps
so as not to step on him.
We came to the half door
of the ward kitchen,
where he pointed
with his a finger
of his other hand
to a plastic beaker
on the side.
Dee-dee, he said
in monotone,
pointing jaggedly.
I nodded,
and he released
my coat hem,
and I walked in,
and closed the half-door
after me,
and picked up a beaker,
and held it up.
This colour?
He expressed nothing,
just stared.
I picked up another beaker
of a different colour,
and held it up
for him to see.
He stared,
and said Dee-dee.
I took the yellow beaker
to the bottles of squash
on the side.
Orange? I asked.
He expressed nothing,
just gazed at me.
I picked up
the blackcurrant squash,
and held it up.
Blackcurrant?
he stared at me
as though I
was a numbskull.
Dee-dee,
he said pointing
at the lemon juice
on the side.
I poured lemon juice
into the beaker,
and went to the fridge,
and poured water
from a plastic jug,
and then half filled
the beaker.
I handed it to him
over the half-door.
He took it with both small hands,
and looked inside
the beaker,
then sipped a mouthful,
and walked off slowly
with the concentration
of a tight rope walker
across high wire.
No thanks or gratitude
or show of further interest
if any or I existed or would,
he stood by a window
with his beaker of juice,
and sipped,
his small hands clutching
the beaker with little concern,
no sensation to know
or history to learn.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
Dee-dee tugged
at the hem
of my long white coat,
as I stood
on the children's unit
of the mental hospital,
hands by my side,
looking around me.
He tugged again
with his small hand
clenched tight
on the hem.
What do you want
Dee-dee? I asked.
I looked down at him
his fingers clenched tight.
He pulled me after him,
saying nothing.
I followed him,
walking in small steps
so as not to step on him.
We came to the half door
of the ward kitchen,
where he pointed
with his a finger
of his other hand
to a plastic beaker
on the side.
Dee-dee, he said
in monotone,
pointing jaggedly.
I nodded,
and he released
my coat hem,
and I walked in,
and closed the half-door
after me,
and picked up a beaker,
and held it up.
This colour?
He expressed nothing,
just stared.
I picked up another beaker
of a different colour,
and held it up
for him to see.
He stared,
and said Dee-dee.
I took the yellow beaker
to the bottles of squash
on the side.
Orange? I asked.
He expressed nothing,
just gazed at me.
I picked up
the blackcurrant squash,
and held it up.
Blackcurrant?
he stared at me
as though I
was a numbskull.
Dee-dee,
he said pointing
at the lemon juice
on the side.
I poured lemon juice
into the beaker,
and went to the fridge,
and poured water
from a plastic jug,
and then half filled
the beaker.
I handed it to him
over the half-door.
He took it with both small hands,
and looked inside
the beaker,
then sipped a mouthful,
and walked off slowly
with the concentration
of a tight rope walker
across high wire.
No thanks or gratitude
or show of further interest
if any or I existed or would,
he stood by a window
with his beaker of juice,
and sipped,
his small hands clutching
the beaker with little concern,
no sensation to know
or history to learn.
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