Red brick on Commercial Road -
where mum did her training
some eighty years ago.
Where white veils sailed
across polished floors.
Where pennies were spun
on mitred sheets,
'5.30 nurse. 5.30 nurse.'
mum used to say.
Red brick on Commercial Road -
where they took dad
when he was picking at the sheets.
(they call it carpology)
‘It’s a bit impersonal’
was his only complaint.
He was dead within the week.
‘Cancer is such rotten disease’
said mum with dry eyes.
Red brick on Commercial Road -
where they are waiting for you, my love,
(with your blue pyjamas
and your brave belligerence)
to open your chest
and patch up your heart.
‘It’s the best bloody hospital in the state.’
mum always said.
I do hope she's right?
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dear-old-alfred/
