Doing the Rounds

The medication trolley
has its own smell
sickness
stale pyjamas

It shadows the walls
a balding stalker
pedalling the ward

Its steel-framed house
rolls towards us, equipped
with its own tablet splitter
and crusher, for those of us
who won't open our mouths.

Twice a day it hosts
a party of green
elliptical cocktails
for the lifers;

they throw back their heads
and swallow their joy
from paper cups.