MRSA

MRSA


As we come closer to the merry month of May
The politicians have come out to play.
They treat us all like stupid sheep.
Into their fold they think we’ll creep.
Cadaverous grins
And demon eyes
Do not convince.
We soon despise
Their really very thin disguise,
While they tell lies, and lies and lies.

Just one week into their campaign
I’m going to have to make it plain;
Like hospital’s MRSA,
I wish they all would go away.

Copyrighted April 14 2005


I am fed up with the election already.
Seeing Clarke on the news last night and hearing the debate about MRSA on Today this morning makes me feel like giving up my election blog. Hence the poem above.

I had a head injury four years ago and spent a night in the John Radcliffe hospital.
I am very grateful to the surgeon who noticed my bones were broken, and for the surgery that was done within hours.
But the filth of the hospital could have cost me my life.
The curtain round the bed was horribly stained. The floor had a pile of dust on it. The sheet on which I tried to sleep was torn right down the middle.

I dragged myself out of the place that very afternoon. Even with my head still groggy I could tell I was not in a healthy safe place.