Why I Don't Want To Die In Hospital (Poetry)

The modern hospital is run
with no thought for the sick person
who dearly needs some rest
there’s no peace to be found
for the wicked let alone
the wounded and the mentally distressed

It is Bedlam — more or less
and it’s driven by the demon of routine
trust the sprawling NHS
with inefficiency their blueprint
for indifference and an inhumane machine

Where once the pristine wards were quiet
and allowed a suffering soul to drift
in the comfort of some unpronounceable drug
now there’s a fearful rising hubbub
as the foreign-chattering cleaning crew
flick mops around to dispense the odd soapsud

Then at some godless grainy hour
when most patients crave more sleep
the rattle of the trolley — tea
that’s grey, lukewarm and weak
and a nurse with a loud accent
clatters up the dusty blinds
so the noise shakes every dream away
and unrelaxes weary frames of mind

So where have all the angels gone —
cool hands that soothed the anxious brow?
Those doctors in their clean white coats
all taken their last formal bow
the specialists and surgeons who
looked so distinguished, calming too
spread confidence — their manner said
they’d take the very best care of you

Those hushed and confidential tones
denoting mutual respect
struck off the new agenda with
its breezy casual neglect
of most everything the patient says
they just run a test or two
and take a vague most-likely stab
at whatever’s wrong with you

Then you’re stuck in that ungiving bed
amidst the hullabaloo
sure there’s quieter railway stations
with express trains roaring through
the deaf old biddy in the corner has
the TV turned up loud
and she shouts out Quiz Show answers
while the other patients crowd

and it’s more like some mad social club
than a refuge for the sick
sure it’s no place for the dying
who’d better leave and double-quick
the modern hospital’s a circus
and I’d die anywhere but there
for I value solitude and silence —
give me tranquility (even senility)
for that last doze in my own old comfy chair