Ward

by Joe Bayliss I guess, deep down, I knew it was coming. He keeps coming in and telling me 'how well I'm doing', 'how I'm steadily improving...' but I know me, I know how I feel. He walks out with a smile on his face, but I've heard him speaking to one of those 'male-nurses', I hear him saying that his 'optimism is failing', but how 'hope can work miracles'. A God-loving doctor? (Pause) Odd. (Pause) But if I went tomorrow, what would I be leaving behind. My legacy is an empty house and a son... he's never been to see me you know? Not once. I've been here two painful, sleepless, lonely months. Not even a card. Not even a phonecall. Do they even let you answer calls here? It's like a cell...  (Plays with food on place infront of bed) Foods horrible as well, tastes like cheap food, definately not British. It tastes like it's been cooked on a camping stove...
 * Ward **