Referral

The doctor knows best
And he cannot be bothered
To sit here and listen to you

The nurses are waiting
His workload’s frustrating
And frankly it simply won’t do

So smile and nod nicely
When told that the pain
That you feel is all there in your head

The GP was wrong
There’s no cause for concern
Just go home and relax there instead

And try not to worry
The girl on reception
When passing by, clutching the wall

There isn’t a thing she can do
To help you. She won’t catch you
If you start to fall

Yes, your notes have gone missing
All part of the system
We run here to keep you in check

For the old NHS
Is a roaring success
It’s the patients that drive it to Heck

Please do get up and go
Without causing a show
For the next fool that trundles in, read:

No apologies needed
With bleeding unheeded
We’ll send you the bill when you’re dead

My Big Toe

Last time I stayed in hospital
I felt like such a fraud
It never would have happened
If I’d not been feeling bored

I took out my best needles
To try to string some beads
But dropped the thread under the bed
And crawling on my knees

Wasted almost half an hour
In a wholly futile search
To find the reel with only feel
Was never going to work

But giving up too hastily
In retrospect was worse
I shuffled back and heard a crack
Then hopped to muffled curse

For I’d stood upon the cushion
In which I kept my pins
The x-ray showed my poor big toe
Joint skewered, for my sins

They pulled it out with pliers
Having made my foot go numb
I hope that was the last time
I do something quite so dumb

Trusted

If cuts are made to NHS
As government will do, I guess
What may become of services
That great and good have seen as theirs?

We’ll pay the same, and more I’d bet
But fewer beds and longer yet
May grow the lists of those who wait
On tender butcheries of State

And leashed upon a marketplace
Already flooded, with no space
For those whose qualities are such
We can’t afford to give too much

As nurses, doctors seek the dole
When cast out of their former role
We’ll pay them not to cut and stitch
Not staunch a wound, nor soothe an itch

But tell their tales to DSS
Who can’t assist those in distress
Where platitudes are rarely bought
And sympathy unknown, if sought

Those managers of life and limb
For them, the outlook will be grim
With reputation poor at best
We’re subsidising workless rest

And gaining nothing, paying twice
For healthcare that we’ve put on ice
While skills hard-earned are left to rust
The NHS ends in mis-Trust.