Fettered
It could be in
the name…orderly…
tidy beds no
decorative pillows
drapes blinds ties
that could bind.
Every day the trays
come
at the same time.
Droning television mutes
the hum of voices real
and imagined.
There is no one
to care for but myself
so I do -
make bedbrush teethwash hair
every day, even.
What else is there
to do?
Outside
the mind must hold
tenuously
grip the edge hold up the
buttress
of Important Things.
Inside
we’re
Free.
Yes.
beautiful poem.
I worked in a place such as that once, the poem brings back memory of place and people.