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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required >Waiting rooms, an urge to write? Why is it in a hospital waiting room? I feel an urge to write. I mean it’s a place to feel unwell. Surely I should not want to write. You see, when I am writing. I always feel just right. So perhaps it best to keep writing. And feel so blinking right. I always arrive early. For my appointments that is true. There are of course odd moments. I forget appointments I do. Not in as forgetting completely. Oh no, that is not true. Just write the appointments in my diary. On the wrong day space I do. I know I must have a problem. That short-term memory, remembering thing. If I could remember what it’s called? I would not have the blinking thing. But I write down what I’m told. In printing, oh so very bold. I think it must be, because I’m old. So guess I am, as that’s what I’m told. I wonder how long it will go on. Making mistakes like that. I made one last year as well. Like me rhyming, my memories gone. Will soon be time to call me in. As hydrotherapy, I did begin. Last week. Oh I did tell you. In another poem, yes, that’s true. So best stop now, before you know. I am called, and it’s time to go. Into that hydrotherapy pool. Where the physio staff, make me look a fool. I can’t take me paper and pen. As like me, they will get wet. Then those words, that I did write. Will float away like me, that’s right. To be fair, I must confess. I keep one foot on the bottom, no less. As if I took both off the ground. Without that nurse I’d surely drown. Now this is all that I wrote there. As my name was called, so I staggered there And when those physios, had their way with me. I staggered back, the same you see. But I thanked those ladies two. For looking after me, as they did do. I’m glad they kept Father Neptune away. Was no room for him anyway. And with the exercises they gave me. Gentle ones, they were, you see. I’m sure they will soon cure me. Then no more of me, will they'll see. As I’ll be cured! And they all will be, Oh so extremely happy. And also will be, blinking me. It seems funny how writing can take the edge off pain. As soon as I stop it comes back again. Funny feeling, feeling pain. (The mad author)<
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