The cancer ward is very quiet
all the doors are closed
my room is nice luxurious even
a CD player an answering machine
it’s full of beeping amenities
but I walk because I can
Nobody notices a bald head here
dancing my IV around on the blue tiles
past the lounge devoid of relatives
past the gossiping nurses’ station
where is there to go in foam slippers
and a nightshirt with no back
everyone else in their cheerful rooms
trying to die a little faster
Ah fond memories of the nuthouse
with its cracked leather chairs
its view of the Seekonk River
always a disaster in progress
some schizo jerking off at lunch
arm full of cigarette burns
we had fun believe it or not
the staff scared shitless of us
and no wonder we outnumbered
them and had nothing to lose
spoke to us like we were foreign
enunciating carefully
Two laps to the fire door and back
around an abandoned mop and pail
aluminum pole jitters on
flimsy casters its plastic bag swings
what I wouldn’t give for a little
mental illness right about now