Firework Night in the Hospital Down at the end of the surgical ward a crowd is gathering for the show. For once, something’s more interesting than puzzles or the newspaper, something that draws us from our rooms, where watchful screens still flicker, wanly. Chairs are turned round carefully to face the glass end of the hall. It’s Fawkes Night in the hospital, and these, the best seats in the house. This floor-to-ceiling window marks the end-point of my daily quest. Each day I rally from my rest and, at the nurses’ urging, trek along the whitewahsed corridor to where a…
Poems
James Ackhurst: ‘Firework Night in the Hospital’ and ‘Keepsake’
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