FOUR WALLS Incapacitated in a retirement hostel. Four walls; two complete, two halves, two halves to make the corner where I sit. White painted cement blocks, with mortar. Textured  (for interest). Gaps for doors, windows, power outlets, ceiling fan attachment. Otherwise unbroken. The window curtain near the gap blows across the cupboard door at times. My daughter hung some photos of the family and a framed certificate of merit - mine - the Bowls Club gave it for my services. A clock. I need that for the time. A plate.  From Feltham, England.  Pink. Always pink.  Never changing. Pink picture on white plate, I’ve studied time and time again. This room has all the novelty for me as have my hands, my wrists. And still I stare. The only pictures in my mind are from the past. I get a thought or two about the future.  If I try I find a thing or two to hope for. But for the present what I know for sure is in and on four walls, two whole, two halves from where I sit. And sit. And sit. 'Four Walls' published in 'Beatlick News' Vol 11, Issue 24 Dec 04, USA. (c) Anita Sinclair 23rd November 2004