When can I die?

When can I die?
Speaks pain
From the corner bed near the window.
Tea, coffee or hot chocolate?
Trolley clanks into 21st century bay.
No one loves a fairy over 40.
From the corner.
What is your date of birth and full name?
Nurse.
What’s happening?
From near the corridor.
Will you phone my cousin for me?
Roaming soul.
Swallow this.
Accompaniment to a capsule.
She made me laugh this morning when she asked for a fried egg.
Nurse.
What have I done to deserve this?
Pain.
Please relax.
Nurse.
The medication takes 20 to 30 minutes to work.
Nurse.

Casually dressed man wanders in.
ID round neck.
Doctor?
Quick glance at bed and move on.
Doctor?
Sunday.
Doctor?
Gone.

Love you, Mum.
Son.
Wake up, please.
Please, wake up.
Husband.
You must eat, please.
Nurse.

You have not taken my pain away with you.
From the corner.
I want to die.
When can I die?

(Observed one weekend in a hospital ward.)

© 2014 Robert Zarywacz