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