Woodside Nursing Home.

Always here is wall to wall railing,
moss green carpeting
to soften the blows.
Always here are the alternate waves
of Pot-Pourri and ammonia,
of lemon, pine and excrement
and the moaning vacuum cleaners.
Always here are the bustling Lottery balls
zip-banging, the fever-pitched whooping
of celebrity shimmering before glazed eyes,
the strobing flashes, the pink-
and-purple-peopled T.V. screens.

In one room, a collection of Bonsai
has been re-homed along with its owner,
the stunted lady in powder-blue
the lady who was
THE Mrs Evans from the estate
with her warped back
curving over the bed-rails.
In another, a gigantic acrylic tiger
grins perpetually at a grey, knotted man
in a crate.
Always here are living gravestones
tilted in their crypts,
hovering between death and the next round of tea.