#air-raid
It is morning.
I heard birds sing earlier.
Used to look out
and see them
before my blindness.
The ward is busy,
voices calling,
bodies rushing past,
smell of disinfect
and body waste.
I lay back on the pillow
and wait for someone
to put me on the commode
and see how
my leg stumps are,
they ached something
awful in the night.
I hate being dependant
on others, that nurse
in the night I had to call
seemed rushed and said
of a terrible air raid
with many casualties.
Near here? I asked.
Jam factory, girls burnt
or injured in the blast,
the nurse had said.
I wonder if Philip
will come?
Each day seems
a slide down a long
dark tunnel with no light
to welcome, just an echo
of voices calling for me
from empty chambers
and cries from bodiless
voices as I slip by.
I need the commode,
I call, as a body rushes by,
swish of uniform,
won't be long,
a voice replies.
Hands pull back
the blankets, lift me
and undress me
and place me
on a throne,
then leave me,
quite alone.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC