jack peachum - Leora Crocker

(South Hill Va Memorial Hospital,1991)

A light footfall somewhere on the marble floor
rustle of starched garment in the hallway,
rank odor of bedpan, strong alcohol,
then halfway down the marble corridor
- dim light and whisper of low voices-
a haggard woman weeps outside a room,
relatives gathering in round her.
Passing them, leering greedy faces-
redneck doctor, bored rude attendants,
tight-lipped nurses, ruthless, efficient,
hurrying rounds with chart and aspirin.
Suffering here's made visible, pain and isolation,
smell of blood, decaying wound and flesh,
ingering air of human excrement-
perhaps it will wake you some future night,
vomit you up from sleep with sudden start,
thinking to hear a groan from a room,
the sickroom door only half-closed-
inside, glimpsed, a woman rolls on a bed, tossed in agony,
eyes rolling up in her head, only the whites showing.
A vision moves you to an old man in hospital gown,
back open, tubes stuck in his arms,
he sloughs along the floor in paper slippers,
pushing his cart, face drugged, empty of all expression
- uncomprehending- stopping his shuffle to gaze in,
reviewing- without seeing- sick people in their beds,
looking to find us at last in the eyes of the terminally ill,
the wretched lonely gaze of the dying-
after all, hell is a place where nobody cares.


jack peachum

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