Purgatory may be
A figment
Of the Catholic imagination
But it's a real and frightening place
For us out-patients struglling
To stay in the human race.
No matter what time
There's always a queue
Full of dithering old biddies
Not sure what to do.
They're always too early
Making the rest of us late
Becoming old before my time
They've sealed my fate.
And then you have to give up
Your waiting room chair
Pretending you're warm hearted
When you really don't care.
I shouldn't be ungrateful
Gawd bless the N.H.S.
Just being cruel to be kind
If I must confess.
For if that's the quality of life
When I get old
The thought of being
Seventy or eighty
Leaves me cold.
Hoping when the time comes
I'll be brave enough
To be bold
And the last Easyjet flight
To Switzerland's not sold.
Dulwich Poet 7th April 2014
(This is me looking around the waiting room, and the queue at Lewisham Hospital, where I had an out-patient appointment. As old age creeps up on me I am not looking forward to getting as old & infirm as some of those around me..)
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