Friday Illness A n E.

The noise of the busy department.

Even in the early hours too.

They keep on walking and working;

Is it him next or you?

Don’t go to the door or the toilet,

Or be stranded with sticks in a chair!

Or you find yourself at the back of the queue,

Thinking, Hey! That’s unfair!

You arrive in an ambulance wheelchair,

Feeling ill and all forlorn,

It’s Friday and ya meet an old friend,

Now you’re wishing to pole vault…

Down the road!!!

But, the laughter brings such good healing,

And gosh! Such ‘fresh air’

As we got down to reminiscing,

We ‘ed been teenagers with dare!

I remembered the time we went dancing,

The teeny bopper two hour club!

We didn’t know how we would get there,

With blisters and toes that were stubbed.

You said Hey! There’s my uncle?

He stopped! I couldn’t believe what I saw.

Next, we are on the back of a milk cart…

He took us right up to the door…

Back to the busy department,

Almost everyone had gone?

I’d sat there in my wheelchair,

Still tight chested and waiting too long!

The moral: Don’t make assumptions,

It’s not that folk’s don’t care,

It’s not you ignored the call?

Or that you just were n’t there?

Remember the people in wheelchairs,

or the ones who are scared ‘on sticks’

They just cannot shout!

“I am coming!” Tight chested!!!

They cannot be quick.

HB.

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