Phantoms

Phantoms In male six, psychiatric ward at night there live ten patients burning bright, their thoughts are with their missing mums, while eager for breakfast wait their tums Now here, as not before, it’s all about who’s first through the dining room door, theirs eggs and bacon and toast with butter, it’s enough to make a man’s heart flutter But romance has now long gone, with shirt needing help to put on; and in this slight miscarriage, a moral judgment say, they take their medication and live another day But then there’s lunch, what delights await? with biscuits, cheese and cream and tea, to fill old hearts with tempered glee, a taste of butter, a square of fudge, a barely felt old- fashioned grudge Five square tables, two at each, if they move they make a screech; which brings us to the main event, evening dinner heaven sent, with pastries, pies and soft fried chips, and bread and butter for trembling lips And interspersed amid all this, there’s medication from the list; black and blue and white round pills, so designed to soothe all ills Ruminations-trembling- hallucinations too, popped in mouth or drank as syrup, tis the steed and you’re the stirrup But here’s not to dwell and dally, on visit Saturday comes aunt Sally; with choc and fags and pink smoked salmon, raise the spirit, mood does rally But alas now all the wards have gone, white coats and patients they’ve moved on; and if one day you pass at night, remember them when burning bright