Seething, oozing, frothing. raging impotence.

In my room which i share; i sit and ponder the distance between moons and how corrupt star-gazing can be when I am told to sit, stay, wait and that is what i do, all wheel-chaired up, in a wheelchair line, sitting, waiting and staying. My head lops to one side, my mouth will not move; I drool, my tongue is sloppy and undisciplined. i cannot hear the sound of my voice but i know what i want to say. I want to say, "i hope for a visitor. I hope we have macaroni for dinner".

If i could speak, the nurse who calls me ol' gal would shrink at my dressing down.

Why? - here in this hallway, in this cafeteria, in this four by ten cubicle i now must call home. No help to go out, no where to go so I sit, so I stay and I wait for a visitor and I hope for a colourful spring.

Longing. Preparing. Resisting. Accepting.