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by Dhyana Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #608362
about living on the psych ward, published in Whetsone Literary Magazine
psych ward

faded flannel pajamas
and foamy slippers
with your toes poking out
they make us wear these
so we'll be easily recognized
if spotted wandering down main street
that's what they say -

but you know the real reason is
so you'll be able to tell the difference
between the patients and the doctors

otherwise
you'd never know for sure

you see,
the patients are all calm and cool as night
the doctors are more like
tasmanian devils
sweeping unexpectedly thru the ward
hiding behind a facade
of white coats and clipboards
causing more havoc and destruction
than a midsummer tornado
in a trailer park

and you're never sure
what just hit you

then there are the pills
orangepillsbluepillslittlewhitepills
pills on trays pills in paper cups
pills you swallow pills you choke on
pills that make you sleep
and when you wake
you find you are 19 years older
and have grown a beard

then you talk
he talks she talks
everybody talks at once
and nobody knows what anybody's talking about

ah, but it's all therapy, you see

albert does laps
first time around
he's got the biggest darned smile
you ever did see
next time around
he's lost his best friend

or alice
with the white bandage wrapped around her head
who wanders complacently
into anybody's room and climbs into occupied beds

and george
oh, george, the stories you tell
twice you were married to cleopatra
and your guidance comes from lightbulbs

then there's me
just like me
once i was sane
then i came here

now i am not
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