Breakfast On A Psychiatric Ward Poem by Philippa Lane
Breakfast On A Psychiatric Ward
'Does anyone know how to make
a bed without fitted sheets? ,
the princess asked,
as she wafted down
into the eating room,
resplendent in brocaded gown,
satin slippers on her feet,
her hair so elegantly
coiffeured.
Our fuzzy minds wondered
if she was a picture n our heads,
or really one of us -
a patient on 5 East?
We couldn't help but glare at her,
conscious of our own unkempt,
ruffled hair,
our borrowed night gowns,
paper slippers on our feet.
Suddenly, she fainted dead away,
and it fell into the cream of wheat -
her crowning glory - a wig,
exposing a less than lovely head
slumped sideways on the table,
crushing a piece of Weston bread.
It seemed offensive, sad to me,
such dignity got plonked beside
a cup of tea at ten past eight.
it was a lesson learned,
for right away I saw the place
did not discriminiate;
We all shared
the knack of hiding things -
like common thieves.
A strong piece. Evokes the surreal desperation of psychiatric wards perfectly.
Pip, I hope you don't mind me calling you Pip - you're an extraordinary 'blood and guts' writer, and I relate to many of the things you say, and don't say. Take very good care, Jerry
I am amazed at your writings! You see such imagery! Thank you for sharing your golden pen. Patricia Gale
Very compelling and well written. I'm looking forward to reading more of yours. Chrissie
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 9:36:40 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Love it. You have the talent and you have the gene. Please see David Horrobin (The Madness of Adam and Eve) . You are a very nice person, and isn't it amazing how much some people can tell from a poem. H