In the first hospital

your body turned into a cushion,
it was the drugs you said
and the daily puddings,
as if sponge and custard
could fix those bothersome brains.

The man in the next bed
was crying for his mother
and there was a woman
who kept knocking her head
on the wall, come in, she said,
come in, the door’s open.

I can’t remember now if we drank
tea or if we brought you anything.
You asked me if it was true
that dad once threw me on my head.

You never spoke of who had done it
or how it happened.
Your boy is precious, you said,
keep him safe.

(from Threat (Nine Arches Press, 2016)