Today’spoem

A heartfelt plea to my GP: It feels like you’re avoiding me! I must confess I’ve even missed Being grilled by your receptionist. And no offence to that nice nurse — Phone consultations are a curse! They rely too much on my description In order to procure prescriptions And taking pictures of my parts Is not a satisfying art! And I’ve been tempted — that is true To consult Dr Google over you: He’s convinced me that I’m nearly dead (I probably have indigestion instead). The question’s not just academic: What happens after this pandemic? More of these digital diagnoses Will create a horrible prognosis: I fear that it might seal your fate — And put ‘Dr Robot’ in your place! I’ll be sitting in my living room And taking my own pulse on Zoom And what on Earth will this then mean: ‘Please get undressed behind the screen.’ I’ve reached the end of my own rope So please retrieve your stethoscope And if it isn’t too much trouble Release me from my techie bubble! And please forgive my cynicism; It isn’t meant as criticism, I’m paying you a compliment Not moaning to your detriment — I’ll be working on my protest banner, For how I miss your bedside manner!

Sylvie Phillips, Chorley, Lancs.