infirm

under polystyrene tiles
mineral fibre tiles
off white
on polished plastic floors
wipe clean
we lay out our not quite dead

hanging
from tubular ropes inserted
under the skin
pumped with mineral fibre fluid
hooked up to the metal frame
the metal monitor
the mechanisms
catheters and cords

we lay out our not quite dead

blue curtains
not quite see through
not enough for privacy
just for isolation
shadow figures waltz behind crepe paper
like childhood games
puppets turning puppets
washing puppets
prodding puppets
leaving puppets on the trolley
for the next day’s games

our not quite dead snore in their sleep

black eye in the bed next to me
the smell of shit
cant go home in his own clothes
dirty
broken
fractured fingers

I am too young to be here

in this sterile place

on my back

laid out among the not quite dead

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