Still, quiet river; reflecting the solemn silent rooves

Protecting the myriad twisted heads inside the walls.

The banks of the river, shoulder blades caressing

The spinal curvature flow of the water’s slow perambulate.

The wind visits the big old trees in the afternoon,

Planted in the Englishness of the mental hospital

To ease the pain of the dopey individuals

Shuffling in rambling lines for physical therapy.

Flying foxes crowd the riverside, an audience

Of winged mammals free each sunset to flow upstream

To a clattering clustering feed in darkness,

Ill-equipped to match the dark musings of patient 21.

The bridge is alluring, a faulty demeanour;

A leap over its fence and 21 is a non-winged mammal

Falling to the rippled river where the ducks serenely paddle;

The angular body damaging the flow all too briefly.