*902 Domus Geriatricus Poem by John Knight

I am assigned to a chair - comfortable
I take in my surroundings - bearable
A large warm square room - presentable
A large TV and sound centre - audible
A faint odour of brassicas - inevitable
Its source? - Well shall we say - predictable
This is a Seniors rest home - acceptable?
Well it's not the Hilton - understandable

I check my companions - every man's dream?
Sixteen assorted females and only three men
Shades of Joseph Smith - but all well past menopause.
My two adjacent Residents - Maureen and Jock
Both wear kilts. Maureen carries on knitting a scarf
Already yards too too long for any human.
Jock is snoring and does not wake up
Who allocated my space - betwixt Maureen and Jock?

Surely not some preordained Divine purpose?
Not really just the fact that Nelly Smith - suddenly
Dropped dead in that same chair - only last week.
That's how things operate at St Finnegan's Rest Home
It's all very dynamic - and very fluid
No not incontinence - just comings and goings
Average age - ninety - average stay - two years
No one bothers to plant an apple tree!

I was comparitively young - only eighty six
No one left to care for me - deemed INCAPABLE
Domiciled to St Finnegan's - until 'Death us do Part'.
The bell donged for dinner - we wheeled - zimmered
And shimmied our way to the table - assigned
Seating plan - seated between Dorothy
And Isobel - and God forbid - opposite me
Eve whose ample mouth somehow missed every spoonful.

I was genetically programmed...........
To live to ninety-two so I faced..........
Seven years of predeath pergatory.
My brian was OK - I am a Scientist
It was my body that was letting me down.
So all my 'supporters' agreed that I needed
Twenty-four- seven care - hence St Finnegan's
I ticked all the boxes - except reality.

Forunately I hadn't signed anything
Or paid any deposit - or burned any bridges
I only had one ally left - who still believed in me
Alfonso Rodriges who - alas - lived in Madrid.
I phoned him and we hatched a cunning plan.
He arrived - for a visit - three days later
With his two brothers - all in full Spanish regalia.
Sombreros - Panchos - Guitars - Al Fresco - Fiesta!

St Finnigans has never seen anything........
Like it before or since - everyone danced
Everyone sang - everyone drank Sangria
For four hours there was an air of normality
For four hours it became Shangri La.
When the Three Caballeros finally left
No one noticed that the man in my bed
Looked a little darker and a little younger.

By midnight I was on the plane to Madrid
With Alfonso and his brother Pedro
His other brother Paulo was peaceful asleep
In bed in my blue regulation pyjamas.
OK I could have just hobbled out - but where to go?
Everyone who should have cared consigned me
To a living death at St Finnegan's
Only Alfonso still saw me as an individual.

That was ten years ago - I am still in Madrid
Celebrating my Ninth Wedding Anniversary
To Maria who was Alfonso's widdowed sister
She is now eighty- three - I am ninety six
And much much fitter now than I was ten years ago.
Alas - all the people who danced the Bossa Nova
On that unforgettable night have now gone
To the big Seniors Rest home in the Sky!

(John Knight - Snowy Colchester - Jnauary 2010)