The doctor will see you now…
A poem for our times
Heads down. Hushed voices.
Coughs and sneezes.
Old magazines. Cosmopolitan,
Flipping pages in the surgery.
Patients waiting patiently.
Your call is valuable to us.
Filling the silence – Verdi,
The Hebrew Chorus
Tenth in the queue. You’re told.
The doctor can speak to you now.
From behind closed doors,
head-phones for stethoscopes.
What are your symptoms?
How long? Persistent you say?
How hot? Trouble with breathing.
On our doorstep behind our gate
we applaud. Make a noise for
nurses, care workers on the front line
without security a casualty of austerity.
Warnings aplenty. Promises empty.
Intensive care becoming desperate.
A blanched hand pressed on a window.
A child on the other side with a rainbow.
By Joy Johnson @joyjohnson22