The Psychiatric Nurse Gimlet eyed and a slitted mouth compressed to keep his anger contained, he was night charge of a geriatric ward decades ago when red brick buildings hosted the infirm of mind. Really wanted to work in wards of more hope but the aged was where he stayed transfer requests always ignored. In winter would max up the ward heaters after midnight, then switch them off, open all the windows to let in near zero cold air and wait for what he believed was 'the old man's friend,' pneumonia, to stalk past the beds clammy hands caressing the chests of the oblivious, before carrying them out the doors to the waiting hearse. Saw himself as a saviour 'doing the best thing for everyone.' Barry Southam If you've any comments on this poem, Barry Southam would be pleased to hear them,