Corridors of Death

Corridors of Death
 
As I enter the care home
I’m greeted with that antiseptic smell
And walk along the corridors
Off which there are rooms
 
Where old people live- doors left open
Perhaps their last resting place
In this life; they lay still on beds
Watching television
 
Or just snoozing.  Some moaning.
I wander past the dining room
Where they’re eating
Or perhaps being reminded
 
By a kindly nurse that
They have something to eat.
This place then, will be
Where many will spend
 
Their last days
Being visited by relatives,
Perhaps some they
Can’t quite remember.
 
For all the flowers in vases
At the windows in each bedroom
These places always frighten
Me somehow:
 
The elderly often have photos
Kept in frames
To remind them
Of spouses now departed;
 
Family members, their youth.
And now they’re here:
Some barely existing
Awaiting departure from the world.
 
MDC