Strange Beasts

In the dayroom crooked mouths open and close,
discussing sore knees with small sequinned eyes.
Photograph stills in sepia grey, their translucent skins
and blue lips drift off into shallow sleeps,
woken by the gong to paddle in for lunch.

It’s quorn sausage and mash today.
Archie what manner of meat is quorn?
Unicorn, I think Margaret.
She smiles stroking his liver-spotted hand,
and ties a ribboned soft sigh in a bow of love.