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 .