“I’m going home today. My wife will pick me up this afternoon.”
Several times he told me his exciting news. I worked on and soon
I had a helper in this fine old man so quick and rational.
Leaving the asylum! I felt so pleased for him for, after all,
He’d been here many years but clearly had no place here anymore.
We talked and what a life he’d led. Adventure. Roamed the world before
The accident that put him here, playing piano for support.
Showed me his burn-scarred hands, with, I presumed, arthritis and I thought
‘That’s playing done for you my friend.’ Yet after lunch, a little tired,
He left me, went into the lounge and played and played as one inspired.
The true professional who harmonised instinctively. And when
I left, before his wife arrived, I thought we’d never meet again.
But twelve months on, another contract job at that same hospital
Found him as helpful and, to me at any rate, as rational,
And still with that same soothing hope to assuage misfortune,
“I’m going home today. My wife will pick me up this afternoon.”