asylum

Asylum
Countless windows mirror the sunset
Pagodas in the grounds
The patients after an early supper
Are at a loose end.
A few, in the florid stage
Entertain themselves with seeing things
That aren’t there
Or talking to the Norwegian Royal Family
Through the intercom of the radiator.
The depressed watch the giant colour set
Registering nothing. The four minute warning
Would leave them like sandbags in their chairs.
The psychotic are waiting
For the coup d’etat to be announced on News at Ten.
They are ready to fly to the UN in a private jet
But would prefer to conduct operations
From their bed.
Into the Day Room comes Miss Webb.
Paper thin with plucked eye brows
Although past seventy
Her yellow mask blank except for her
Hitler moustache
She flitters through into the verandah
Outside taffeta rain begins to fall into
Soft asphalt.

Christopher Baily
June 1986

©estate of christopher baily