NHS poetry

The Muse Nige once again inspires. This, if you can believe such a thing, is a Shakesperian(ish) Sonnet about an NHS ante-natal unit.


Southmead Hospital (Maternity Unit) Sonnet

Forked out three sixty just for the car park,
Make that four 'cos of course the machine
gives no change, then the sarcastic dark-
eyed desk lady, with face the pale green
of the walls in the forlorn waiting room,
Ticks you off, and says sit anywhere.
So we sit in unfathomable gloom,
Even though we’re all glad to be there.
And you think: is this what communism
is like? If Bevan had this chair,
Would Aneurin have an aneurysm:
Look on my works, ye dreamers, and despair?
And yet, all the miracle we need in life:
A safe scan, a saintly NHS midwife.