Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Good Night, My Darling, I love you,
Good Night, My Darling, Good Night.

It is 5 a.m. A watery dawn trickles thinly
through ward windows
to outline six figures sleeping peacefully
and one who cannot sleep.

They stir uneasily as I sit up to read,
pull curtains around my cubicle
and fumble for the postcard
which should mark my page.

Green trousers, blue trousers, striped
overalls and sensible or platform shoes;
watchful of need, trim figures pace the floor,
leave us to sleep again as best we can.

I settle back, accept a draught
against the pain, wriggle my bottom
to relieve sciatic nerves and
lose myself in blessed print again.

Good Night, My Darling,
Good Night, My Darling,
I love you – Good Night.

Day breaks at last, chairs shift,
commodes are wheeled away,
bodies are bathed, hair washed,
rollers inserted and removed.

Ladies, transformed, smile
thankfully, sink back to sleep
until their visitors arrive,
rouse only for a cup of tea.

The men's side is more curious,
propel themselves into the day room,
watch cricket or the News,
cast tolerant eyes on me with 'Weakest Link'.

My blind friend watches shapes
but cannot see the ball;
our Dutchman tells us vigorously
how proud he is that he is Dutch.

A tall emaciated figure leans against
the window bars, whimpers with nerves
and looks just like my Richard might have done
if he'd achieved old age and yet more pain.

And Jim, our Petty Officer, torpedoed twice,
supported by his faithful wife,
keeps up his monologue by day and night.

Good Night, My Darling, Good Night,
I love you, My Darling, Good Night.