Frames

 Frames

 

Some haphazard conversation in the car,

passes time like gum between him and her,

wheel spinning, unthinking, chewing tar.

 

Carpark barriers are permanently frozen

upright in automatic plate recognition,

she twists the keys from the ignition.

 

Grabbing a chair from the stacked rack,

two out-patients, puffing cigarettes,

gaze impassive at his pushing, then forget.

 

Infrared sensors detecting some motion

authorize sterilised doors to slide open,

he shoves her through with care and caution.

 

Slips shut to seal air inside plate glass,

they proceed forwards, neither slow or fast,

past the walking frames and plaster casts.

 

Through sterile corridors that fork left,

snake right, past hot coffee brewed swift;

a shop hawking sentimental tat by the lift.

 

Wilting flowers wrapped in cellophane,

coloured bits have fallen but some remain,

and a stony stare while a nurse explains.

 

Echoes of how many times Lucozade had lied,

a gauzy bottle that rotted from the inside,

and perhaps that drumming child had died.

 

The X Ray room’s doors are bolted shut,

he spins on one foot and trusts to luck;

you can draw what you may from his look.