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BMJ No 7123 Volume 315 Poems Saturday 20/27 December Christmas 1997 issue A minimental status examination (1) She told me that it was summer and that we were in the south of France. Last night we had heard a man sing beautifully on the street and had sipped wine while we listened. Her father was important and young men had always sought her. I was no exception. She complained of the heat. (2) She remembered three things: One-The sound of crickets frying in the sun. Two-The correct way for casting on a row of stitches. Three-That in her father's house were many mansions. (3) She told me that my pen was a dagger and that my watch was a fading rose in my hand. (4) She said that the world was already backwards and why make it worse. (5) She wrote: "Old Meg she was a gipsy And lived upon the moors Her bed it was the brown heath turf And her house was out of doors." (6) She drew a butterfly on a piece of paper for me. She coloured the body in blue where the wings overlapped. (7) She closed one eye at a time slowly while she looked at me with a smile. (8) She took the paper in her right hand, screwed it up, and threw it at me. No ifs, ands, or buts. Later I told her what day it was and the name of the place where we had talked. I said her name like a cold flannel wiping away the food from someone's mouth. There are times when I wonder why I did. Glenn Colquhoun Home | Current issue | Past issues | Classified ads | Career Focus | Feedback Collections | About this site | About the BMJ | BMA | Medline