The future of History

Another fish bowl angled empty,

 sun is warming a purple sky, 

clouds dissipate acid rain,

drought is expectantly nye

Jim knows best, he’s lived through it all, 

two world wars, metal plate screwed into his skull, 

alas the destruction of the Berlin Wall.

Petrified by a ghost drinking tea, 

what a peculiar thing to see, 

it was a vision he saw at the end of the bed, 

not quite living, yet not quite dead

plastic fish, yellow snow, blackened road, 

batteries on the way to bring you home, 

squidgy squashy insects are an all time low, 

hear the squealing death, 

of the great king toad 

Shutting her eyes in a forest, 

listening to an eerie sound, wind rustling, 

hooting owls, rumbling in stomach,

moving of bowels, no place here for shit covered snails                              

Hearing her sighs, she taps a stick, 

a Labrador stands close by; it gives her a lick. 

Having a rest in the large red chair, on her lap, 

a golden head peeps,                   

she closes her eyes for an everlasting sleep.

Hospital View

Clean light does not shine here anymore

magnolia walls have become dirty to the floor

grey linoleum floors sticky past directional tape 

the sweet smelly air scent of a chemical vape

porters holding trolleys going nowhere fast

waiting in line, stuck in a glued cast

a  simple white elephant apparel of the past 

chrome handled entrance, black mold on doors

overstuffed receptions, empty neglected drawers 

queuing behind windows with breath stained glass

stagnant chairs of patients, sitting on their arse

signs in red or blue do not show;  where to

a political pawnographical played in a game

became a place of bacteria hiding its shame

people of best intentions caring for the sick

choosing beds carefully, which one will they pick?

corridors of scattered drums, towels and gowns

a tiny little perspective from sitting here now.