she would not talk about what happened there,
seek help again. Her mind had jumped a track,
was now sort of OK. Did not know where
she'd put three slides at work, and for two years
thought they would sack her. Would not ask or look
for fear they'd notice, and would sit in tears.
Until she saw the pictures in the book
The slides were for. She watched their futile dash -
Egyptian hamsters, twilit, behind glass -
Said 'they're my thoughts'; giggled to watch them bash
rebound like furry dodgems. Moods would pass
like sunlit hail. The pills that rid her brain
of voices, numbed her passion, not her pain.