Dream Poem 50: Maternity Ward

In a maternity ward
there are a few of us,
maybe  three or four on a ward.

It is the past
the 1950’s
there is a lot of blue Formica.

It is going home day and the mothers are all getting their babies ready.
They are huge
as if we have been in hospital for months.
These are not new-born size,
more like 18 month olds.

I help a mum put a dress on her baby
as she has a few other little ones on the floor.

There are nappy bags, clothes, water from baths,
everything is trodden in together
dirty
and I’m going round picking up items and tidying…

A nurse asks how I have been getting on
and did I buy a workers pass
for the duration of my visit.

I say yes
this card or pass allowed me to buy things in hospital,
food, clothing, nappies.

I am glad to be leaving
at the same time I don’t want to go.

Another ward is really filthy
and I spend time picking up things from the floor
there is a whole bag of new baby boys clothes
they are all spoiled by foot prints and dirty, muddy rain water.
I give them to a nurse and say

“This isn’t my ward.”

(image by Anthony Earnshaw)

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