Last Message From Pandora (Poetry)
28th May 2021
It smells in here — you know that all-too-human reek
a blend of desperation, fear and piss
so strong no floral disinfectant, however liberally applied
can disguise it or dilute its atmosphere. And I must admit
some hint or essence of raw dread belongs to me
It’s turned 3am and there’s a further three dark hours left
of this stretched-thin-to-aching night to go
and I seem to be the only one awake. Even the duty nurse
is sound asleep and nodding at her post in the puddle of
her desk lamp’s economically low-powered dingy glow
A sudden snore and mutter breaks as though a wave turns over
on the shingle of a dreamer’s rumpled sweat-damp sheet
(inked along one seam THE PROPERTY OF NHS HOSPITALS)
while sleep maps a more private sun-kissed shore perhaps
I’m envious. How can anybody rest when they’ve an
operation looming? I would far rather risk Niagara in
a leaky wooden barrel. When I close my eyes I imagine
myself fleeing from the horror of a knife: each skilful
remove-the-poisoned-tissue cut has me flinching
We’re lined up here in order. We queue for this
the same as in the bank or supermarket
at least there there is a chance we will get out
sometime and likely all in one piece
Here we run a calculated risk
And now there’s shame and guilt
the burden of one-too-many secrets I failed to share
or own up to — never bared my sorry breast
and asked forgiveness for. The lead weight presses so
at last I sneak off to the toilet and email my confession
void the vestiges of sin I’ve been indulgent enough to wallow in
I fucked your best friend Richard one New Year’s Eve maybe ten or so
years ago during all that boozed-up bonhomie that wrecked the pub
I don’t think he remembers it — the tumble was so quick
it’s barely worth a mention. But when push comes to shove (sex aside)
it’s you I love. I think the wine and Auld Lang Syne should take
most of the blame. However, I hope you can forgive me...
Pray hard and wish me luck. And don’t forget to feed the dog.
Pandora
a blend of desperation, fear and piss
so strong no floral disinfectant, however liberally applied
can disguise it or dilute its atmosphere. And I must admit
some hint or essence of raw dread belongs to me
It’s turned 3am and there’s a further three dark hours left
of this stretched-thin-to-aching night to go
and I seem to be the only one awake. Even the duty nurse
is sound asleep and nodding at her post in the puddle of
her desk lamp’s economically low-powered dingy glow
A sudden snore and mutter breaks as though a wave turns over
on the shingle of a dreamer’s rumpled sweat-damp sheet
(inked along one seam THE PROPERTY OF NHS HOSPITALS)
while sleep maps a more private sun-kissed shore perhaps
I’m envious. How can anybody rest when they’ve an
operation looming? I would far rather risk Niagara in
a leaky wooden barrel. When I close my eyes I imagine
myself fleeing from the horror of a knife: each skilful
remove-the-poisoned-tissue cut has me flinching
We’re lined up here in order. We queue for this
the same as in the bank or supermarket
at least there there is a chance we will get out
sometime and likely all in one piece
Here we run a calculated risk
And now there’s shame and guilt
the burden of one-too-many secrets I failed to share
or own up to — never bared my sorry breast
and asked forgiveness for. The lead weight presses so
at last I sneak off to the toilet and email my confession
void the vestiges of sin I’ve been indulgent enough to wallow in
I fucked your best friend Richard one New Year’s Eve maybe ten or so
years ago during all that boozed-up bonhomie that wrecked the pub
I don’t think he remembers it — the tumble was so quick
it’s barely worth a mention. But when push comes to shove (sex aside)
it’s you I love. I think the wine and Auld Lang Syne should take
most of the blame. However, I hope you can forgive me...
Pray hard and wish me luck. And don’t forget to feed the dog.
Pandora