soft centre
the ward is surgically unthreatening
rubber soled squeak
high backed support chairs
hold the condemned erect
amid the tea cups and grapes
low voices hum with the light
through the window grey sky
lifts the sparse cheer of the crowd
looking down he sees a forward
stretch, miss, slide past the post
taking another untouched roses
he wonders whose blood is in the drip
is it draining her
it's boring
worst christmas ever
a trolley comes round
visitors coo
bandying cliches to lift the mood
'oh I shouldn't' 'it'll do you good' 'one won't hurt'
embarrassed he is caught
holding sweet papers to the light
seeing the world strawberry dream
the papers join the pile in his pocket
half time, the paint flaked main stand empty
two seagulls strut the turnstile roof
a solitary groundsman sows sand in the centre circle
worst christmas ever
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