Sign of the Time

I am a lost patient,
Left in the wrong corridor
With two white blankets
To warm my back, cover my legs.

I am slightly bent,
Look at least my age,
Young enough to be a resident physician,
Old enough to be resident furniture.

One of four wheel-chaired men,
Quietly lining the wall
Opposite an x-ray room,
Awaiting their turn, or.....Godot.

I supposed that eventually someone
Would come looking,
Remove me to the Eco lab.
Meanwhile I smiled at fate.

I’m well enough to get up and leave,
But that would be “contra-indicated”.
Hospitals are not really upbeat.
Maybe it’s the music?