Let me introduce myself
I'm Robert K. Wesson,
Sgt. Retired
I like to say the K was for killer,
But, in fact it was for Knowlton
I have no idea why,
Nobody in our family named that, as far as I know.
Anyway, that's out of the way.
35 years served. Can't give away anymore information than that, it's a national secret. I can say, I can cook a mean chipped beef for 1100 men though.

I served in WWII, lost a lot of friends. I'm 97 years young now, as they like to say. I don't, I gave up counting years ago when I lost my wife, but, folks round here like to put on a show every year I get closer to 100. They wheel a cake into me, have me blow out the candles and then I head down stairs to the commissary for a beer. A light beer mind you, but, still a beer. Anything harder messes with my meds.
Personally, I think they give me the beer to shut me up, puts me to sleep in no time. I'm on pills for blood pressure, diabetes, headaches, one to make me ***, one to make me ****. Won't get into those now, rather unsavory things to chat about.

As I said, I served in the big one, came back relatively unscathed. No physical issues that I know of, but, mentally, I saw things no one should. Things that stay with you for ever. I wasn't front line per se, but, I can't tell you what I did, it's a national secret. I can say though, 100 loaves of bread, I can do that....no trouble at all.
Around here, I'm Grampa Bob, or Gramps, depending on who is working. Not many from my generation here now. Oh, here? I'm at a military home outside of Kingston. Some days, it's great, others, I wished I was gone years back. I wish I was gone in the war sometimes, but, then I would never have met my wife and had the fantastic life I did have. No kids, but, we made do.
Met her once I came home. But, that's another story. Wished I'd gone first though, tough watching her pass, cowardly to say, but, it was rough. I came in here after that. Was having trouble sleeping, concentrating, and generally couldn't take care of myself.
Seems strange a man who could do what I could, I can't tell you though, National Secret and all.  But I could field strip my weapon in the dark in a windstorm, and make stew for 1100 men no sweat.
Well, I came here, before I burned out the house. The local fire department got tired of coming out I guess, made a few calls, and here I be. Sold the house, made enough to do ok here, what with my pension and all too.
I'm not one for reading too much, eyes aren't the best anymore, and my hands, well the arthritis flares up and I can barely move some days. There's a computer in the common area we can use, but, I know all I need to know, and some things I wished I didn't.
Never got used to television, especially after it switched to colour. I didn't get the jokes, and the cop shows? I had the murderer figured out in the first ten minutes, why couldn't they figure it out?
Back to here. I'm an early riser, always was. Get up, shuffle to the sink to do my teeth before they come in and give me the whole whang dang doodle wash and wax to get me ready to face the day.
I used to go to the crafts classes here. They were ok, but, a man only need so many fake leather wallets with horses on them. After all, I've nobody to really give one to. If you want one, let me know, I've lots. Did a few of the Christmas trees in ceramics, but, after a while, I lost interest. The wife loved having the trees around, but, without her, it's not the same. Made about 7 or 8, let the nurses have those.
The nurses, great kids. Not the same as the ones we had in the war. Those....well, those were nurses. They could do anything needed, field strip a rifle, put in an IV under fire, drive a jeep, all without getting those starched white uni's ***** or blood stained. And...without losing their caps. Nurses today? good kids, but, not as tough in my book. Things have changed a lot, no uniforms like the old days, pretty casual, and 5 nurses to do what one would do in one quick visit. Now, 5 nurses, 2 hours to do what?
Anyways, I hear one coming now, so I best go. I know it's not my birthday, and VE day was the other day, so, must be tests again for something. I'll be here if you need a wallet remember, lots to go around. Hope to talk soon,
Just ask for Gramps, they'll get you here.

I remember an old man, wheelchair bound
His body crudely sewn together
with bolts and screws.

You see,
his bones wouldn't stop growing
and breaking within his tiny, feeble frame.

He offered me a metal plate from his shoulder
after his next surgery; I pictured ****** flesh in Ziploc
But alas, I never saw him again.

On the visiting ward of the hospital
I ask my mother one day how someone so blithe, despite their condition
could end up in a place such as this.

She said depression doesn't discriminate;
The constant nagging, piercing pain he lived with daily
was enough reason to search for an end to it all.

My mother was right: depression stealthily maneuvers
its great tentacles, its black, feathered extremities
across the minds of the unknowing, the unsuspecting, and the undeserving.  

It is a black sludge sickness, spreading from generation to generation
And somewhere along that genetic timeline, her and I,
cursed.

Sitting across from her at scheduled visiting hour
I am reminded how our roles were reversed here
just years earlier.

They say time stops for nobody,
neither does this beast.

Locked behind the door
Of glass, I sweep the floor
With my broken shoes
The morning's news
Is no news at all
My father on the wall
Ghosts are in the hall

I wish I was
Somewhere else

At the sin bin
***** windows
Hold the freaks in
Vacant eyes
Conversation
Strange expression
Dark and dimly
Lit the aura
In its sad eyes
Sick and tired
Always sleeping
Ever dire

Hiding away
As the rains run high
Lock me away
No more to run from my mind

In the courtyard
Cobblestones (and)
Brick and mortar
Water falling
To the stone floor
From the brick walls
Trees that darken
Leaves have fallen
To the cold stone
Wilting flowers
Frowning further
With the hour

I’m locked away
As the clouds blow by
Hiding away
No more to run from my mind

We show the fatigue of Twelve hours
       of duty, to care for those that
Cant even breath without our care..

When we leave those that we wish
could survive till our next shift.

We go to grocery stores to find
             our next meal,
but shelfs stripped clean...

By those who don't need,
but horde more than there need,
                          for either greed or profit.
                                                      We weep,
for we are holding our hands out like Oliver!!

        Sir, Madam do you have anymore,
As we weep with empty stomachs..
      making do with the scraps left behind..

            "Sorry not till our next delivery,

                             But ill be at work then..
A tear drops lonely down a cheek.  

             Yes I've seen eBay, or online selling sites...

They make me sick to my heart,
        to think I may have to save these gluttons
on an empty stomach.

But I don't judge
              I just drop a tear for those I lost the
night before.

I tried,
               they tried
              but this venom, sinks in fast..

I wear the scars on my face, the masks digging in,
                   the cracked skin that I don't have time
to moisturise as I know its been a twelve hour shift.

                                                       I only sleep a few,
     my moments of peace and tranquillity woken
early...
        My beeper goes off, were on call..

At least I got more than most,
           I give myself a two minute stretch,
  
and a wake up call, then I'm in fresh gear,
          sanitise my hands, and put gloves on.

I'm fearful of this virus, as many have fell like
warriors on the battle field, now breathing through
                                masks of life and death.

But my vow of care is strong and I shake off
              this fear, and walk into the ward a warrior
of positively.

"I will care for the fallen,
           I will hold a fearful hand,

never will I let anyone go.

But I'm only one in a sea of many.

If I can keep on breathing till they have strength

             its a win..

brrEXIT
by Michael R. Burch

what would u give
to simply not exist—
for a painless exit?
he asked himself, uncertain.

then from behind
the hospital room curtain
a patient screamed—
"my life!"

Originally published by Setu. Keywords/Tags: brexit, death, exit, suicide, euthanasia, quick, painless, hospital, patient, hospice, final, curtain, existence, nonexistence