My G.P.

Vaulted room echoes silent concerns,
Bubbled bile hacked bringing up germs,
Bored children wriggle, scratching at spots,
Elderly belch and fart, dignity drops.
Robotic ladies repeat scripted retorts,
To frustrated impatient, patient’s thoughts.
Doctors rush out and bark out a name,
Old man gives chase like a hide and seek game.
Where on earth did that voice come from?
Door pushed gingerly in case he is wrong.
Guessing games start from those so inclined,
Which ones are dying, leaving loved ones behind?
How is that lady? Starring at me,
She looks back and frowns, then she’s off for a wee.
Posters scream fear, making me paranoid,
So I scan for the ailments that I can avoid.
And whilst I consider a routine blood test,
I unconsciously grope for lumps in my breast,
Then I readjust my posture to locate my prostrate,
“Before”, the poster states, “It is too late!”
I look up to see the lady returned,
Face still contorted and rather concerned,
She catches my eye with a smile, I’m connecting!
And then she reveals a body expecting!
My eyes dart away and onto another,
I’m panicking now, have I offended this Mother?
So I look at the floor, feeling totally appalled,
Then jump out my skin when I hear my name called.

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