*Anaesthetic Aesthetics*
I enter hospital, not knowing
who I’m going to see :: dead, living,
actors slipping into their roles
for theatre. I greet all I meet
with a happy face, reflecting
the intelligence of a decorated biscuit
at a birthday party. I am their balloon
to pump up with their machines, to
pop with their sharp knives. They wheel me
down long corridors of light, I’m facing
a *her* face and a *his* face, upside down,
clowns taking me for a ride. They
stop and put me on a serving tray.
*Me!* Soon I am floating in liquid air
where I keep my true self, mid-deep
in a lake where naught swim but I.
I surface to play my role, an impro
where parts are tagged and we
create our own diurnal dialogues
and midnight monologues to those
playing dark night nurse. My balloon self
sags in a field where the tent is up, a circus
of before nows, yesterdays, the dead ones
who have stayed for one reason or
no other. Once they circled
coming into focus as faces smiling
before their skin flaked off
and death faces blew away in
a silent breeze. Again I am
in their hands, again I float from
their theatre to my circus domain –
now my mother approaches
with a friendly grin made all
the more horrific by her death. It isn’t
about her – it’s about me. Yet
I still don’t understand, as I return
with my laughing biscuit intelligence
fresh from the baking fire.
--
Not truly a snap because I have worked on it - this is draft six. Any
comments all welcome.
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
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