Dark halls cloaked in smells.
Plastic, fake, far from home.
Fluorescent faces pacing walls with crinkled wallpaper.
Metal fingers clasping patients waiting for nothing.
Legs are here but want to be outside.
Sneakers squeak and get trapped in spaces closed by corners.
Faces with life that don’t belong here, want to be somewhere else.
Shiny veneer tiles with spatters of dull green and pink multiply.
Cardboard soup and Bingo mustard.
Ashy skin and aged hair.
Yellow eyes with hope and pain.
Cheap patterned curtains and weathered compact discs.
A peaceful body lays on its side, forgotten but warm.
Shower rings like speckled eggs of rust and stuff.
Ink and signatures, checking in and checking out.

Object WritingDerek Sammak