All the white rooms
My life has become
Accustomed,
To these clinical rooms
Where they take my blood
And I am no stranger.
A second home.
The nurses know my name
And my illness
These people have become my friends
I visit so often.
I have a registered
Loyalty card
“Tenth one’s free.”
My plump nurse tells me
Through her lisp
That she has cancer
And has had all her teeth removed
But she doesn’t like to be morbid.
I think
How selfish and small this pain of mine.
She shows me a barcode with my name and date of birth, and asks for confirmation
“is this you?”.
And I suppose I should say yes
So I do.
Not really knowing what that even means anymore.
Thomas Calder is a young creative with a background in music and film-making.