I met him at a hospital ward we shared,
A large, unkempt looking man
About sixty years old,
We talked sometimes in the communal smoke room,
He always had his stuffed toy orangutan,
For company and comfort.
He heard voices frequently,
Sometimes they called him names,
He’d argue with them out loud,
Shouting at the top of his lungs,
“You wicked evil bastards!”
Then he’d apologise for his outbursts,
He was polite like that.