After the breakfast clutter

has been cleared away,

the dayroom is mine.

It is a modern space,

bathed in sunlight.

It is hard to feel

much anxiety here.

I’ve been told my diagnosis.

It has been explained to me

in mammoth consultations.

They imply I’m special.

I am allowed no visitors.

I’m under constant observation.

I don’t care. The nurses are

watching me now.

It is time for my medication.

Which I shall hold gingerly,

stare at, and take like

the princess I am.


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