As always, I’m early.

That unique clinical smell of disinfectant
Permeates the air;
Grey floors,
Grey walls,
A cloying sense of clean.

Too early for me.
Too early for them?

Cleaning progresses.

Tick tock, says the clock.
How many hours will pass before I am released?
I wonder if it would be wrong to start a tally.
Perhaps some kind soul will tunnel up from next door
Teach me all he knows.

In the distance someone drops a bed pan.
Nurses are handing over.

They find me a place to sit, uncomfortably.
Should I have stayed comfortable in the waiting room arm chair?
One poor soul has been here overnight.
An extra bed is squashed in across the way.

At the end of the bed a surgical gown begs to be inspected, tried on, paraded.
Should I do a twirl?

And so the circus begins.



Author: agw

Amateur poet and writer who aspires to write more...

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