15.10.08

Hospice

Concerned on Wednesday
Unsure before
A Monday morning
A mundane bore
It isn’t hard to see
The hurdles
Hovering above bureaucracy
That block a breath of air
Between
A body bows on
Thursday
In Hospital rows
Along litigated lies that have been weaved.
And men deceived
Until
Sunday
When the widows die.
The air’s not fine
It’s not alright
There’s an NHS illness
In the beds where we lie

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