Wat Out 1968 Poem by Terry Collett

The matron of the nursing home
took Benedict with her. She wanted
to let him see a death so he would
know what to do if it happened on

his watch. They came to the door
of the room. She opened it and a
care assistant was sitting in a chair
by the bed. She rose when she saw

the matron. No change, don't think
she'll be long, the woman said.
Ok we'll take over now; you go off,
the matron said. The woman went off

and Matron closed the door. Benedict
looked at the old woman in the bed.
It was Edna the Yorkshire Lass as
she used to call herself. There's trouble

at mill she used to say jokingly if there
was something going on in the home.
Now she was on the way out: no more
trouble at mill. The matron indicated

for him so stand and wait. Wonder what
it's like to die? What one feels or thinks?
Maybe we don't. The old woman breathed
heavy.; her face was white and clammy;

her eyes were closed. Won't be long, Matron
said in a whisper. He nodded. No more
trouble at mill, Edna, he mused silently,
watching the slow rise and fall of the old

woman's breast. Then suddenly the breathing
stopped; her breast was motionless. She's gone,
Matron said. They waited for a few minutes,
then the matron felt for a pulse. Nothing.

She moved the old woman's arms across
the breast; tied a small bandage around
the jaw and over the head and placed
the eyes down with sticky plaster. Watch

carefully, the matron said. Benedict watched.
The matron took cotton wool and filled up
the nose and and ears and then pulled down
the blanket and uncovered the old woman

and put cotton wool in the other orifices below.
He looked at Edna packed up and ready to go.
Later the undertaker would come and whisk
her away before the other old folk knew

what had happened. Next time, Matron said,
you will know want to do. He nodded and they
closed the door and parted. Just like that.
Done and dusted. The Yorkshire Lass is no more.
He moved away giving one last look at the door.