Shoes in Hospital
Paper in my hand,
A heavy bag hanging from my shoulders.
It’s a hospital.
The stench of Lizol, Dettol, and medicine lays still.
I see shoes of all kinds,
Sizes from smallest to adult.
Some formal corporate leather,
Some in casual Crocs.
Cutesy shoes occasionally show up,
Some that would fit better at a party.
The sandals of aunties speak a similar vibe.
Interns and doctors in all black
Among them, a few in khaki uniform.
A lot of bathroom slippers,
Yet all are filled with a silent restlessness.
No one stays still for more than a minute,
Tapping the floor as if that would shorten the wait.
It’s early. The doctor hasn’t arrived.
Yet still, there remains a long line
In front of their office.
I took a spot.
Soon the doctor arrived.
Eyes lit up,
Minds filled with a little dose of dopamine.
The line moved slow.
People tailing each other close,
An uncle babbling behind me in a language I don’t understand.
My turn comes.
Her voice calm, the same as with the others
Passing papers, my hands remain firm,
Lacking any haste.
My shoes move through the building,
Searching for another room.
I hear the screeching of a wheelchair.
Interns, young,
Lighting up the place with their chatter.
Seeing signs, passing through two buildings,
I reach pathology.
Machines whose use I don’t know.
Plenty of tubes, all labelled.
Boards of precautions hang on the walls,
This place, filled with white and blue.
A small sting, felt in the right arm.
Blood, then labelled,
And sent to the lab.
Seeing, observing, I sit with open eyes
The smells of people and cleaners overwhelm me.
All waiting in quiet stillness,
Hoping to have their pain relieved.
I get my report.
Papers rattling in my hand,
printed with letters I don’t understand.
My shoes
that had all the time in the world,
that wandered with unhurried steps
like a breeze passing through
ready themselves to leave.
Fans blasting air
Paper in my hand,
A heavy bag hanging from my shoulders.
Moving softly,
Still.
A.V
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