We’re all a little cuckoo

We’re all a little cuckoo

Working on the wards

Would have been more fun

If we were all high together

Some days we were in

Desperate need of a lift

When the in-patients

Were harder to define as ill

Than the staff

Consultants with borderline personality disorder

Psychopathic nurses

With a penchant for illegal restraint

Empathy is a rare earth mineral

Burn-out

Eventually took its toll on those who cared

Old Jeannie was a regular

In and out of hospital all her adult life

She seemed to fit with institutional rhythms

Isolated on the outside

Rejected by her family

Who thought she was a danger

To her own children

Loved them too much is all

She never stopped laughing

It was hard not to join in

When it was her defence

Against pain

The depth of her sadness

Way deeper than most of

Us would care to go

But once she got started

The laughter spread, out of control

Strangers misunderstood

Thought we were disrespecting

Our professional roles

Mocking the afflicted

Instead of building trust

Breaking down barriers

Creating a place of safety

If you have ever been

On a psych ward, you would know

Too many people feel afraid

Fear the abuse

The dehumanisation,

Objectification

And not just the patients

Jeannie always bought presents

For the staff she liked

Brought them with her

When she was admitted

She smuggled in a single malt

Hid it inside her toilet bag

We all shared a tipple at midnight

All went well

Until the laughing began

A bunch of staff on their backs

Rolling in the dirt

How come the giggles are so infectious

Perhaps she should have come free

On the NHS

If she is still alive

I guess she is still there

Not me though

I have moved on

Although the world outside seems

A little less sane

More unpredictable

And quite a bit more dangerous

Than a locked ward

It has its compensations.