At Hells-pital

Patients staring at each other,
Fever,pain,ache,
Queued:waiting their turn.
On either sides of the waiting area.

In the next room
Push! Push! PUSH!
New,innocent and fragile baby groomed.
Born to the cold gloom.

THUD!on its way to the nursery,
On the floor it lay,
Quickly picked.
The white floor stained,RED.

Within grace period,
Mother holds her child,
The weak smile curves.
Something is a miss.

The baby,
Mute and pale,
Swollen purple head.
Echoes of silence.

Two generations smashed,
Who to blame?
The busy quack?the trainee?
Or the overcrowded facility?

MOVE!Another patient needs the bed,
Duty had been done,
Certified in black and white.
No witnesses.
Save for the clock,which stood in silence.

Mother and Child,
Two broken spirits,
Leave to a future.
A misty foggy future.

Patients staring at each other,
Waiting their turn.
Their turn at Hells-pital.

 
Empress 

http://www.morrismosesfoundation.org/maureens-story-2/