This nature reserve was once
\nan infirmary for American soldiers,
\nthen a TB sanatorium in the fifties,
\nfinally a psychiatric unit
\nfrom sixty-one until asylum was reckoned
\na room in a tower block.<\/p>\n
Here is a walk called Matron Walk;
\nold trees and paths, and woods fenced off.
\nThey hold dangerous substances
\nthese woods. We are warned.<\/p>\n
No ghosts of battle-scarred GI\u2019s
\ncrouch behind hedges.
\nNo blood-coughing robe-wearers
\nhunch upon the crumbling benches.
\nNo moon-faced lunatics
\nknot fingers of despair
\nat the verdict of the heights.<\/p>\n
We throw coins into a frail stream.
\nWish, privately.<\/p>\n
The conservationists let piles of timber rot naturally,
\nencouraging frogs, toads, snakes, beetles, and beneficial types of fungi.<\/p>\n
To our relief, there are no remnants of Nissen huts,
\nno distant thrum of the shock machine.
\nNo reek of unwashed gowns to linger in our hair.
\nChewing gum and nylons are not to be had.<\/p>\n
A Weimaraner poodle chases air, bounds at vacancy,
\nfaithful to its own game.<\/p>\n
No ghosts but us.<\/p>\n
And one day, when people have spare hearts,
\nand can live three centuries, if unlucky,
\nno one will know we came here,
\non a day they used to call Thursday,
\nso long, long ago.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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