health

Waiting room blues

It’s the smell of it…
Bleach and anti tobacco air freshener
Wafting under unplucked nostrils
Encouraging sneezes to dole out lurghee

From the middle aged man in the black cotton suit
shuffling uncomfortably
To the crazy bag lady from number forty three
Still hollering at the receptionist for losing her forms

It takes all sorts

They wander in
and out of this hive of necessity
Swaddled in winter clothes to stave off the cold
Even though its twenty degrees outside
Yet little good it does them
When seated in the cramped sweat box of a room
Accidentally being coughed on by pensioners
And touched by sticky fingers
stretched out from ridiculously large pushchairs
Tiny lungs piercing ear drums
A generic wince shared by all.

How to cure manflu – Part 2

Step one – Assess the patient

If still and quiet,

tucked up in bed

Kneel beside him

Feel his forehead

If snuffling and sneezing

Shivering with sweat

Prepare for the evening

In your kitchenette

Make the soup

(See part 1)

But if you come home

Find your man on the couch

Snuggled in blankets

Being a grouch

When you ask how he feels

He tells you he’s dying

Whimpering and wailing

Wants Vicks rub applying

Now for the decision

This is really  Manflu

Are you wanting to cook

Or consider step two

Step two – Assemble miracle cure

Take two black stockings

Stretched up to thighs

One khol black liner

Apply to eyes

Paint your lips

To ruby red

Balance a nurse cap

On your head

Fasten tight

Your push up bra

Slip on high heels

It’s not that far

Dab self with scent

Pull on lace thong

Zip up nurse dress

You can’t go wrong

Then over patient

You must lean

To show him how

Things could have been

If he were well

Then out the blue

You find he doesn’t

Have manflu

How to cure manflu – Part one

Three sweet onions thinly sliced
Four thick garlic bulbs finely diced
A cube of butter melted down
One sizzling pan for glazing brown
Stir widdershins with wooden spoon
While humming softly, light in tune
Ready beef stock, rich with heart
Entwine balsamic, strong and dark
Two large cups of blood red wine
A glug of brandy over time
Fan the heat until it boils
Simmer down then taste your spoils
Season to acquired taste
Sprinkle parsley chopped in haste



After having a Get well soon theme pop up on the reader
SEE HERE
And chatting with the ‘suffering’ I felt inspired to share my cure in a more poetic form.
Keep an eye out there is more to come *winks*

The Word

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She peers over her spectacles, searching my face for a trace of emotion.
I am a curiosity to her.

Slowly she repeats the question
And waits for the anticipated response.

This does not happen, it cannot happen
For that, is not who I am.

I am born of passion, anger and strength
Raised with courage, filled with infliction
Moulded by deception and lacquered with lies
Grown to withstand the storm of adversity
Weathered by love and stained with disappointment

I will not crumble under a word!
(Which I cannot yet commit to vocalize)

Squamous…. common… epithelium….

The words waltz into a tango, but my dancing partner has flown.
The word – Sits – Alone, like me.
Tap,
tapping,
it’s consistent beat to the sound of her voice.

Standing to leave, I feel the word:

Hanging

Today I will not allow it to follow me home.
Today it can stay here, with her – and dance to the tune of disappointment
Today I refuse to accept the invitation
Today I shall not acknowledge any existence

Today, I am the lead