The Age of Neglect
Elder abuse is a social epidemic
Subjugated
He wanders (wandering) wondering
WHERE
HE
IS????
In this abject corridor bereft of humanity
Dark and desolate, despoiled in despondency
Isolation shuffles in tandem with his
UnStEaDy GaiT
He slips on hermetic hardwood floor
He falls, falling, fallen, felled…
| ! CRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK ! |
Laying on his back, in this gelid
Gnostic grave?
He’s upright in his mind, legs cycling
Pandemonium arms reach up unto
Portals of an abyss (or is this hell?) blackness
Coalesces around his haphazard, eroded body
Gleaming light blinds him, shining a
Spotlight from God?
Blurry bodies rush to his side, he cannot
”UNDERSTAND?”
The words they speak lest he
Knows, help has arrived…
Kevin? Kevin!! Can you understand me? Squeeze my hand if you can. Let me call the nurse on duty.
Hello? This is Sandra, Kevin’s had a fall again, I’ve got two new staff doing their buddy shifts with me. I don’t think he’s got any broken bones, he looks fine. I told Kev at the start of my shift to stay in bed, but he never listens. I think we can move him back into bed without a lifting machine. You enjoy your tea break, bye.
Six hands cover him with one herculean
HEAVE
His pupils dilate, the pain sears, groaning
As an inscrutable orchestra of voices
Heed none of his wishes, his waning, wilting
His left arm numbs, his fingers
Still.
Writhing.
Gripping onto fabric, belt buckles, and
Careless skin
ToPsY tUrVy ToRbiD tUrBuLeNcE
He slips from gratuitous grip, a guttural
SCREAM escapes his chaffed lips
He doesn’t feel (?)
Anything as his head collides with
His bedroom wall leaving an indelible mark
Roll, roll, roll
He’s face down atop a bloodstained
Boorish pillow
His eyes flutter, his body spasms, his mind
Silences this suffering, somnolence now
With one furtive flick the light abandons
He lay, cold, in a crucible
Of lingering death.
© Edward Swafford 2025
Clock Hands
She reaches for her assistance buzzer PRESSING
Once hopeful
Twice help
Thrice helplessness
Silence…
No chitter-chatter of nearby staff, no onus nor
Restitution? For the simple sin of needing to
Urinate, an arduous task within four walled wells
Aged (un)care(ing)
Litmus tests of dignity dichotomous, dilatory
Yet Eve persists, frail feet toe-touch the abrasive
Surface of her sensor mat, yet nobody hears
ALERT-ALERT-ALERT-ALERT
Does anybody care?
Existential questioning moot points to shuffling
Foretelling a fractured future
Dolorous arthritic hands grip her worn
Walking frame, tunnel vision as the toilet door
Is a mile's trek or more
Or so it feels???
Nearing the shuttered entrance to the bathroom
Arm outstretched, fleet fingers, damp continence
Aide singed and scolded, senescent skin
She clasps
A handle and exerts what’s left of concept strength
Slow-motion stasis, an aurora of coruscation
Blinds her as her footing forsakes her
Eyes widen, she begins her cornucopia descent
The body disavows, clocking impact as her face
Collides onto a smooth maze
Marbled floor rings truest, ticking neglect cycle
Motionless, paralysis pervading, benumbed yet
So still?
Synaptic peace salves the SHOCK, so she prays
For finality
Her dehumanized body, spirit, soul = susceptibility
Eve’s had another fall, we told her not to get out of bed. We’ve assessed her, she’s fine, just a suspected hairline fracture. We’ll apply a 50-microgram Fentanyl patch and put Eve back into bed with hourly checks to make sure she doesn’t abscond again. Yes, I’ve called her doctor to come and see her in the morning.
Her prayers fall on deaf ears,
Hands of time pitiless.
© Edward Swafford 2025
Thank you for reading/listening.
Both of these pieces are based on actual events. I’ve worked as a nurse in the Australian aged care sector for over a decade, and I’ve seen it all. Money-centric nursing home facilities forego adequate care for the most vulnerable members of our society.
Governments pledging to fix the broken system come and go, political parties on both sides of the left/right spectrum sing the same old tune and fail to deliver.
It’s a national disgrace. If the Australian aged care sector is in crisis, a so-called “lucky country” with a high GDP, how many other nations are failing the people who built their societies?
*A version of Subjugated was originally published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself.
Edward, your poetry is truth. I'm on the cusp of the reality that both my mum and dad will need more care than I can provide. It's a frightening prospect, even having worked in this field for a few decades.
Every time you (beautifully, viscerally) take us through their experiences, I feel like if I can't bear it for a few minutes, how does reality work for them, day after day...
Thank you for sharing these poems, everyone needs to read them.