Poetry by
Gregory McIntyre

The waiting room stinks
Of despondency
A dim globe
Silent nod
I go in
While outside you
Will nurse your pain
Until again
A nurse emerges
To nod at you wordless

Get up
Walk in
Disinfectants
Large gauge
Syringes
Sharps bin
For sutures, sit
Flesh pinched
Wire’s in
And out
Of my skin
I wince and look
At a dreary vista
While he works
Faded landscape
On the wall
Roo-paw
Looks like a sepia dog poo

Mull to myself what this will do
To my tattoo
Of her name
All the same
Never mind
She left me for half the street
She’s got
Momentum
Like a wombat in heat

So, close my eyes
Savour past flights
Lunch, harissa
No, losing it
Overpowered by dust
From carpet with walked in
Channels
Cloudy stains
Faded
By an absent sun
In the cabinet
Iodine and rum

No window
No scintillating word
To lift the poor sods’ spirits
Poor drab ducklings
Perched outside in a row
Like crows
Outside this church
For the atheist
With its
Pad of salvation scripts

He’s done
I’m stitched
I’m cooked
Slide me off the stove
Let me out
Past naked legs and arms
My armour
At the door
Get away
Let me out wake me up
From this bleak
Cabaret