Sometimes these verses need a rhyme I can’t lay hands on,
They do not always come cascading, in a rush;
So I’ll sometimes get the odd good line I can’t further expand on –
Like ‘Daub the whitewash, raise the carpet, grab the brush’

‘I’d like to think that I’d find someone to support me’
Was another had me going nowhere fast;
Plus one experience has long since shown and taught me –
‘Never stop kicking at the cunning bastards’ ass’

I’ll throw some more into the mix for you to preview,
Ones that it seems to be worthwhile my still pursuing;
‘I can’t stop now, explain, I’ve patients left to see to’;
And then ‘The left hand doesn’t know what the right hand’s doing’

But the biggest loss of all? That I’ve foresook
Wrapping a poem around this truism thus far;
A line revealing all that’s wrong with medics’ outlook –
‘We’re seen as ailments, not the people that we are…’