Moorfields Eye Hospital
Space fills fast in the waiting room
Voices murmuring, a whir of nerves
Jangling fears shot through by
The clinic clerk's clipped instructions
There's nothing welcoming about her at all.
Hospital noises: quick heels clacking,
The ticking of name cards against buttons,
Sighs and hmphs from the waiting patients,
The gentle roar of the heating system,
The jingle of keys and metal instruments,
The banging door and the suck of gel dispensers,
A high pitched beep and someone's snore.
I'm immune to the smell
I grew up in this hospital
Well not quite but I was around it enough
I've never noticed that antiseptic,
Chemical tingle, unless I force myself
And concentrate hard.
Yet I can smell my perfume clearly
The outdoors on that lady's coat
Mothballs from an older bloke next to me
There's nothing wrong with my sense of smell.
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