Work in Progress

Waiting room blues

It’s the smell of it…
Bleach and anti tobacco air freshener
Wafting under unplucked nostrils
Encouraging sneezes to dole out lurghee

From the middle aged man in the black cotton suit
shuffling uncomfortably
To the crazy bag lady from number forty three
Still hollering at the receptionist for losing her forms

It takes all sorts

They wander in
and out of this hive of necessity
Swaddled in winter clothes to stave off the cold
Even though its twenty degrees outside
Yet little good it does them
When seated in the cramped sweat box of a room
Accidentally being coughed on by pensioners
And touched by sticky fingers
stretched out from ridiculously large pushchairs
Tiny lungs piercing ear drums
A generic wince shared by all.

Ageless reflection

A faded flourish

Where the headboard should be

Papered cracks, widening with age

Years of flaked skin, line the floors

And still she sits, oblivious

She doesn’t mind the damp

Likes the cool air on her skin

Doesn’t worry about closed curtains

Sunlight is her enemy

It only highlights the wear

The chair complains, as she moves

Humming her lullaby, to the cat

Who cares not for her words

As long as fingertips can still

work a tin opener

Barely registering the presence

Of visiting family

She remembers small faces

Full of grubby smiles

Yet not these strangers

These faces are long

And tired

She cannot contemplate

How they could grow old

Yet she herself, has not.

Mornings… ugh

Just a start of something more perhaps…

 

The alarm screamed into her ears to wake her violently from her dream. An arm jutted out from under the sheets and aimlessly patted the side table in an effort to find the source of the noise. After a minute of useless fumbling the sheets were thrown off and she grabbed the clock with both hands, hitting it into quiet submission.

‘I hate you!’

She screamed at the clock as she slammed it to the floor. Stumbling into her slippers she cursed at the cold air and having to get up so early, she hated mornings anyway but Monday was always the worst. Grabbing her robe for warmth she made her way to the bathroom in a sleepy haze, luckily she managed to navigate the route on auto pilot most mornings.

Turning the tap on she pondered her tired face in the mirror as she waited for the water to heat up. Poking her tongue out at her reflection she thought about how nice it would be to just go back to sleep and ignore the world but she knew that wasn’t an option. So instead she splashed her face with tepid water until her eyes were fully open and brushed her teeth begrudgingly