Sick Humour
Living death ,hotel for hypochondriacs?
Where there are rarely empty beds
But some bodies may soon be.
Bright curtains are there for all
To screen their shame and pain,
Though the final curtain will surely
On some soon fall..
Blue-jacketed staff breezily
Glide about their tasks
Smoothly and swiftly
Until becalmed by a lull
At the nursing station
Before a maelstrom erupts.
Suddenly a sour smell wrinkles noses
And the team sweeps into action.
Soothing and rancourless,
"You're a terrible man!"we hear them say
As they set about erasing
The evidence of soiled humanity.
Yet we see their neurosis
Over death-defiling bugs
In the continued wiping
Of bed rails and curtains of grime
And then there is peace
In our time.
There will be other flurries,
Punctuating regular routine
But, respite gained,they relax.
A question about the time ,
Is met with,"Ten past s***e!"
Cathartic laughter refreshes
Them for the long ,long night .
Copyright © Denis Bruce | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment