Head

On sunny days
we put him outside in the garden.
He neither admits to liking the garden
nor to disliking it.

He's black-eyed.
Stony-faced.

We've heard it said
he was Head of a boys' boarding school
and that he may have done unspeakable things
to some of the boys.

We neither listen to rumours
nor fail to listen.

He's a resident.
In our care.
We treat him accordingly.

The past is the past
and most of our residents live there.

Occasionally they foray
into the present.
But not for long.

We have one
who was a Head Gardener
tending the foliage in the grounds
of a large country house;
the residence of a Duke and Duchess
and their five lovely girls.

Did he do unspeakable things to an English rose?
We don't ask.

His favourite place appears to be the library.
We place him there
and he stares at illustrations of flowers
for hours. Smiles
intermittently.

Our task -
to provide care and kindness.

What goes on in our own heads
is of no consequence.