"brogan" poems
I want to roll down that grassy hill,
Again in Mississippi bare-footed
In my ‘petticoated’, polka-dotted flouncy dress,
Sashes hanging untied down the back.
And walk through the fragrant gardens
Of brogan wearing old-maid great aunts;
Hiding half-way behind her dress,
Clinging to the wrinkly flesh of my Granny’s arm.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
You have to check
the bogs,
Blue says,
the inmates
try make off
with each
other sometimes.
I look at her,
the nurse,
younger,
yet more
authoritative.
Do they do it?
Will if they can;
some of the more
brighter have a hold
on the more
feeble minded.
I walk down
the corridor
of the hospital wing,
passing rooms,
side wards,
off corridors,
dark and uninviting.
I come to the toilets
and peer in.
Some big guy
is trying to ******
a younger guy.
Put him down,
Brogan;
this is not
the place or time.
The big guy looks at me
wondering what
to do or say;
he says nothing
and moves away
from Murphy
who just looks at me
and smiles.
Off you go, Murphy.
Off you go, Murphy,
he echoes
and trots off
back down the corridor.
That wasn't nice,
Brogan;
best be back
on the ward;
I think Blue's
looking for you.
His eyes enlarge
and he screws up
his nose.
He says nothing,
but goes by me,
looking at me
as if thinking
I may touch him,
but I don't,
unlike some,
I just walk back up
behind him.
Blue glares at him.
Have to watch him,
he's a molester.
Molester?
Yes, of kids,
filthy ******
no one likes him;
what was he doing?
Having a ***
He's dangerous;
he's here
for his mental state.
I watch as Blue moves off
in the direct
of a patient
rocking back and forth
on a chair over the way;
she talks to the man,
strokes his hair.
I look away.
There's a strong smell
of ***** about the ward;
it clings to you
like a disease,
enters your nose,
your clothes.
Blue takes hold
of Brogan's arm
and leads him
out of sight.
I work days;
thank God
I’m not here
at night.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
An angel has been gained,
yet there has been so much blood stained.
In these families' lives,
the men can little as comfort their wives.
They will weep and fill with sorrow,
pray that there will be a better tomorrow.
The cruel truth of reality is true,
and for a while their eyes will only know blue.
Younger then 85 is a terrible way to die,
their loved ones can do nothing but ask God "why"?
Yet perhaps God knows this,
as the families stare out into the vacant abyss.
They may find peace with prayer,
tell them that God is there.
There is a reason for what has been done,
do not worry, you will see your son.
McKenzie and Brogan are in a better place,
do not let their time on Earth be a waste.
Think of the good times and memories made,
do not let the incident put those in the shade.
They will be looking down from noon to noon,
saying to their families, "I promise I will see you soon".
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC