WHISPERS AND WHALE SONG

By Matt Mellor

10.05 am. The lemon walls sweat in the morning light.

The world could be smiling, or it’s the heat and glow of strain.

Magazines, posters and leaflets all out of date,

subtly stretching time.

I take a seat in the present

but the past pushes my head down

like a lead baseball cap.

Between us sits a small table

big enough for a box of tissues and two glasses of water.

The air is soon filled with talk of telephone assessments,

weekly wellness scores and descriptions of auditory hallucinations.

‘It sounds like whispers and whale song?’

‘Yes, or distant birds. A dawn chorus through the night.’

The sounds decanted over life, colouring mood.

Changing a sympathetic face to a smirk.

She should be seeing someone else.

Someone who deserves help.

She doesn’t even believe you.

OooooO

When the file closes and I leave the room

and walk out into a symphony of sound.

The little appointment card is a life ring,

or a thread, thinner than a spider’s web.

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