Palliative Care

The old man wasn’t doing well
Staff at the expensive care home shrugged
Not our fault he’s old and senile
But he won’t last that long!
We can tell!

A sojourn at hospital, the weeks slipped by
Rough hands cleaned his mess
Forced into baggy, incontinent pants
Stripped of the dignity – he once possessed
Few noticed the light dim in his eye.

Doctor was nice, he’d seen it before
Nothing could restore the vigour of youth
Forgotten the number of families, he’d gently told
We, haven’t the resources to cope
With an elderly eighty year old.

Plan “B” was his discharge phase
Back to the expensive care home
With indifferent staff
But now with anodyne recourse
Days drifted, lost in a semi-conscious haze.

Lucid moments, must have hurt
Where am I?
I haven’t seen the cat for ages!
Will the wife worry – why I’m not there?
Our little bedtime chats – now seem rare.

Just a heartbeat away, with no more to follow
The old man – found himself
In a place that only a man of his eminence
Had earned through leading, a “gentle-man’s” life
That reflected his lovely essence.

Mike.