Preamble: I've just left hospital where I spent a few days with infected
lungs, etc. An old bloke called Banjo was brought in to the bed next to
mine. This is a small portrait.
*DRAFT TWO*
Old Banjo lies in a hospital bed
Like a fallen tree in a storm. I hear him
Wheezing and drawing air in, falling
Short of breath then a deep rattle.
84 is not that old for trees but it is
For us who walk the earth.
After two days of wheezing and such
He took himself up to the nearest hospital –
But not before he’d fed the next door dog.
He’d promised the owner to
Fed the friendly mutt while he was away.
A couple of days. Now this happens.
He waited a couple of hours until
It was 5 o’clock, then fed the dog.
Hospital can wait. He wasn’t that keen,
Living alone and liking his own company.
Banjo drove his old Kingswood station wagon
To the emergency department’s door. He didn’t
Like parking smack-dab in the way,
But he couldn’t walk far and this was closest.
Now they had him troused up, stretched out
On a bed made for a smaller patient with
Leads and who-knows-what. When a young
Pretty one had trouble inserting a jack
Above his bedhead, he suggested she ask
the young male nurse. Back in Banjo’s day such
Suggestions were welcome. Today she
Tried again with extra vigour. I nearly
Commented but thought it best
to keep my own counsel.
Visitors came in. A couple from
Over the road. He didn’t pull up
The sheet but straightened
His workman’s singlet to cover
His sun-aged trunk. An old world
Rough elegance surfaced and Banjo
apologised for any trouble. The word
had got around as it does in small towns.
His wagon? Security had driven his wagon
around the back. The neighbour had
checked. Fair enough. To these two
Banjo gave instructions on how
and when to feed the dog. At home,
Banjo left the backdoor open, so there was
No trouble there. No trouble here
Either. Banjo was on his best and full
of gratitude. I was eaves-dropping
through the pale blue curtain,
Fascinated by the vernacular from
Decades gone by, and the young couple’s
Practical attention to who to ring
And what in the fridge they might like.
He apologised for dishes in the sink;
they waved it off as of no
Consequence. But it is when you’re
A proud self-sufficient bachelor
From a time when manners and decorum
Were currency in society, bush or town.
I know the house, as it happens. Not
A blade of grass out of place. Roses
Trimmed and cared for. So it was
He who was the old man I saw
Watering the garden. I was
Always going past in a hurry
To get nowhere important. And now
We were parked side by side, out
Of breath, our own meters running.
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
Books available through Walleah Press
http://walleahpress.com.au
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