Help Poem by John A'Hern

The resident doctor, first name seldom used,
Long forgotten in a place that threatened to consume.
Packed bags and on their way,
Nurses remember the Doctor's frays.

Today finds them walking corridors, chatting away,
Medication to be dispensed as they plan their day.
Lighting needing updating, light the way,
Life of sorts starts to stir, bringing the building to life.

Music playing, hymns sound so dreary
Raise their eyes in hopeless feelings.
Curtains are thrown open, some left closed,
Coping with the day's challenges lay ahead.

Most residents start the day on their own
That is how they stay, lonely and bored.
Usual staff meetings, decisions made
All of them know that they will never be completed.

A communal room, sparsely populated
Sitting in armchairs staring into space,
A conversation between some residents
Discuss the gossip and nasty others.

Blame the younger generation
Nodding heads all in agreement.
Watching TV, plenty of chuckling,
Occasional shout as feelings are let out.

What were once proud potted plants
Shrivel and die for lack of care.
Cups of tea and tasteless sandwiches
Pass the time between tasteless dinners.

Gossiping continues hour after hour
No one safe from this group of Women.
Reading books long forgotten,
Shelves full of boring sex and violence.

Evening arrives without invitation,
Slowly, everyone returns to own rooms.
Another day survived sleep is calling,
Peace disturbed by someone shouting.

Shawls and bedclothes pulled tighter over their heads,
Hoping and praying the din will be suppressed.
Windows and doors are locked tightly
Keep them in or keep others out, the question.

Tomorrow arrives, complaints start to surface
Those that dare to live on, compassion is shown.
Everything discussed at morning staff meeting,
They all feel as helpless as the residents,
Who do they tell other than them themselves?