sunday lunch with the ladies

Psychiatry 1: The Early Years – Poem 7 

hello dear
how are you
don’t you look lovely

I’m not sure if I look lovely
but they sound strange
like little girls boxed up inside
old ladies

it’s sunday
and I’ve jumped on my bike
and gasped my way
up to where mum’s working
in one of the female wards

they always seem to be busy
up here
scrubbing something
or folding something
but they’re all over me
when I visit

almost patting me

mum is really pleased
when I ride up
but sort of hurries me away
out of the main room
like she’s not sure it’s good thing
for me to be here

in one of the empty rooms
I perch on a neat bed
feet swinging

while mum ducks out for a second
then comes back
with a plate of roast chicken
left over from lunch

and pink junket
for a special sunday dessert

© Frank Prem, 2016

Next: spreading magic in the bread room

Notes on: sunday lunch with the ladies


8 thoughts on “sunday lunch with the ladies

    • Yes I do, inasmuch as they were my ‘normal’ routine.

      It was just what we did, like escaping to the bush that started over the road from our house and disappearing for a day with a sandwich and the dog. Just normal.

      I recall thinking the ladies were a bit icky – but like our of control aunties, more than anything, I guess.



    • Hi Candy.

      Thank you. Yes, I’m glad to have written these memories now – the good and the not so good. Those days are gone and nearly all the players have passed away now.

      It’s good to have some images of them.



      Liked by 2 people

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