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The Hospice  

I needed minor surgery, a place was found
at a hospital in another town; a spa town along the coast
famous for its many statues and water fountains
often visited by intellectually inclined tourists.
My wife came with me, as we didn’t think the surgery
would take long, she has a map on her mobile phone
she is also fearless in asking people when we get lost,
which we often do.
After some gentle arguments, we found the place, 
a beautiful building on a side street, pristine white
with no hint of decay, like black patches caused by
damp and the usual degradation of old age.
Inside, the atmosphere was friendly and soft music
like a scarf, balmed any anxiety an unhurried nurse
spoke in a whisper, held my arm as we walked
up steps and along a corridor to the doctor’s office.
The man in the white coat, looked at his screen, gone
Is the day when the shirt had to come off and the medico
Knocked on your back with his stethoscope and told
To cough; instead, he said: will the afternoon suit you?
I said no because I had to find a hotel for my wife
and a long-stay parking lot; “a long-stay parking lot!”
He gasped, looking surprised, I can schedule you
in for the morning and with the music of your choice.

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