Smothered
Photos on the locker top
showed to whom Mark belonged
his parents, his sister.
A well worked drawing above the bed
a tree beside a stony path:
“Is that by you?”
It was dated long ago.
“Have you more?”
A folio of various scenes
showed a careful steady hand
for detail
talent for design.
Yet his hands now trembled.
In Mark there was no spark
back in the ward
in care
subdued
his imagination eclipsed
vision dimmed by medication
stimulus to create now gone.
So much that should have been:
smothered. UNSUPPORTED CODE
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