Cubicle

How like a prison is my cublicle

Where I await the medic on his rounds

I bite my nails and chew their cuticles

But take care not to make a single sound

Were I to  don this backless gown supplied

And lie uncovered on this small hard bed.

I feel as if  someone will think I’ve died.

And like a book I will remain unread.

Alone and naked like a new born child

Or like a suspect in some  secret jail.

I must keep hold of thought and temper wild…

No cries,no screams,no not a single wail..

How easily we ‘re plucked from normal rounds

And hurled into a maelstrom with no bounds