[David Callin]

They take me out, as if I were a bun
emerging from the oven, nicely done,
or one of Lord Carnarvon’s photographs.
“I feel like the Mummy!” No one laughs.
The nurse stands by, in case she needs to help
me back into my reassembled self.
My partner is still reading in her chair.
We move toward the unrestricted air,
not looking back, although the chances are
that this is not goodbye but au revoir.
(My eyes dazzle briefly, as they might
for blinking Lazarus surprised by light.)
After a coffee and a quick sit-down
we take a waiting taxi into town.