JHe doesn’t know it’s summer

The miner in the ward of the hospital.

He retired on a pittance of a pension

After a life of toil digging tin and coal in the dark

Only to have a massive stroke.

He can only speak in a whisper.

He cannot hold his bowels,

And must wear a nappy like a baby.

At night he shivers with cold

And calls out for blankets.

But he cannot be heard

Because his voice only makes a rasping sound.

Where is his dignity

As a man?

As a miner?