Today’spoem

I don’t feel well

And sad to tell,

At my age, some aches and pains are due.

I phoned the doc,

But what a shock,

To find I’m seventy-eighth in a queue.

Long ago, you arrived At the surgery and contrived

To read outdated magazines and wait your turn.

You took sandwiches and cake,

In case you had a lengthy wait, Coughing noisily, while watching the old gas fire burn.

I put down the phone, Then lift up my book with a moan,

It’s a weighty tome, a medical dictionary. It shows every disease and complaint,

And every symptom (don’t faint!)

All with graphic illustrations, non-fictionary.

I discover my symptoms could be

Colic, mumps, or scurvy, Although I may have had an allergic reaction. I could have laryngitis, rhinitis, Ringworm or arthritis, At least I don’t require anything in traction. Feeling worse than before,

A free paper I explore, There’s an advert for ‘Colin, your Witch-Doctor direct’.

I give him a call

With no trouble at all. In fact, he treats me with great respect.

I’ve hardly put down the phone

Than he arrives, with altar of stone,

And certainly agrees, I don’t look fine.

I whisper, ‘Is there a spell That can make me get well?’

He says, ‘No, I’m dialling 999.’

In hospital at last,

The crisis has passed, But the medical team are vexed with me.

‘You left things so late, Why on earth did you wait?

You really should have seen your GP!’

Mrs anita Bass, theydon Bois, essex.