Sunday, 2 April 2017

A Detainee

I'm cursing while rolling down a hill,
Malfunctioning with being severely ill:
What warrants scrupulous attention
Is the inevitability of detention.

Locked away in a state of worry,
Cursing - but not being a bully,
As staff have control of the ward -
I fight with my mouth, and not the sword.

I sometimes get restrained for my ill-gain,
But I won't refrain from honour in I name
As I am gentlemanly to she and he
Who go about their business respectfully.

A needle with poison in for my arm
While I am trying to keep calm:
I wobble slowly away to face my day
With patients not distinguishing what I say.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 02/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

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