Sunday, December 12, 2010

In A and E

My knee and I have been here
for two hours:
I have a hankering to hide
my money in a shoe
and my bladder is nagging
but there is a strange affecting silence here,
apart from the girl calling
Mummy, Daddy, Mummy.

Perhaps I could limp to the toilet.
My zip has burst,
but who’s to see?
The corridors are sleeved in marble,
they stretch to vaults as white and cool
as the Hermitage,
though that girl is crying
Mummy, Daddy, Mummy.

Where are the health professionals?
This vast industry of making people well?
Surely my optimal waiting time has
been breached. I saw the figures
when I came in, by the room
where the girl is screaming
Mummy, Daddy, Mummy,
Mummy, Daddy, Mummy


Jim Murdoch said...

Enjoyed this piece. Especially noted how the intensity of the girl's pleas increase. Now sure about the word 'though' in the second stanza. I can't seem to read it so that it works for me. If it were mine I think I might start a new sentence: "Now the girl is crying." Minor point. Other than that, great.

hope said...

I was never more angry at the medical system than when I had to go from Dad's Oncologist, who believed people had a life OUTSIDE their office, to the local hospital which seemed to think forever and a day was a good service motto.

Wow...that sentence is almost as long as your wait. Feel better!

Argent said...

I've been there too. Thing is, some people waste everyone's time by coming to A&E with things that their GP should be looking at. They are pretty miserable places though, and you poem caught the feel of waiting and waiting. The repetition of the girkl crying was very effective.