Eric (name changed) has half an
hour between dozing in the lounge &
pacing the corridor, so off we go
it’s a sunny freezing day on
Spamhead Common (name changed),
he’s a quiet well-spoken chap in his
60s, could easily pass for a man of
the church
& I’ve got the walkie-talkie in case
he misbehaves, or slips in the snow,
it’s covered the birches & the oaks &
the heather, the natural world is
glistening with white
in the distance families toboggan &
laugh, so I steer him away, this pervert
has fucked up childhoods, fucked up
innocence, fucked up the possibility of
love
he was probably buggered himself,
& so on we go, his gait unsteady from
20 years in institutions, & it’s only a
short stroll, just to get away from the
boredom, the other patients, the smell
of disinfectant, before you know it
we’re back
I press the numbers on the keypad
for (name changed) Rhododendron
Ward, open the doors to this prison,
his home, where the cupboards are
filled with adult nappies & the razors
carefully locked away
back to his slippers & a game of
Scrabble, medication & a nice cup of tea