Two old men


Not his real name



Not his real name either,

Meet in an unintelligible environment,

Clinical, yet, homely,

Hotel? Hostel? Hospital?

It is all a fog,

Stan, because of the progression of his dementia,

Len, because of his fading eyesight and general deterioration.


They stand

Side by side,

Looking out the window,

Dressing gowns,

Len with shopping bags filled with pilfered belongings of others,

Stan, with his hands in his pockets.


Each respectful, tactful with one another,

Skirting around their mutual impediments,

Both aware

That nothing is right,

But unsure how to get beyond their situation.


Doctors, nurses, therapists,

Uniformed folk


They come and go,

Smiling, cheery, cheeky.


Len and Stan, drink their Yorkshire tea,

Stan sits on Len’s bed and listens.


Len tells Stan that he has taken all his clothes,

Stan, looks into his shopper.


They hold-up a tattered slipper and establish that indeed, they both have very similar footwear.


Day moves into night,

The circadian rhythm tick tocks.


I go home, in my shiny car,

They stay behind,

Another day,

Another moment taken-off the totality of their lives.



Categories: Delirium, Dementia, Humanism, Person Centred Care, Poesy


Trying to understand the world, one emotion at a time.

1 Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s