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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

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