6th April 2020

One more sleep.

One more night.

One more warrior

for the fight.

This day has been looming,

since my professional grooming

for a role

which no longer

exists.

Faded into the mist

like the kiss

you wish

graced your lips.

But instead

we’re left with this.

The kiss missed

hurriedly dismissed,

into the air of uncertainties.

This isn’t what I was expecting

in all honesty.

Or is it everything

I swore to be?

My calling.

The many roads in life I’ve taken,

unexpected updates in navigation,

jumping off at the wrong station

and changes to the destination.

Has strengthened my

motivation,

determination

and resilience

to emotionally charged situations.

I feel lucky.

I’m the most stable

and fulfilled

I’ve ever been.

I just hope

I can cope

with the tragedy

I’m likely to see.

Frequently.

Oh and the small risk

of catching Covid-19.

Sent to war

with nought

but a chocolate sword,

a water gun,

and colleagues

the age of my grandmum,

coaxed out of retirement.

Cannon fodder?

We’re well aware,

the risk we’re taking

isn’t fair,

isn’t moral,

nor justified,

how many need to die?

Paying with our lives,

due to lack of supplies.

Because leaders can’t organise

a supply chain that doesn’t rely

on imported goods from our allies.

Is it really a surprise,

when this virus is worldwide

that countries are holding on

to their own stockpiles?

I mean,

it’s obvious to me

that without our own manufacturing

frankly

we’re up shit creek.

What’s even more frustrating

is we knew it was coming.

We had practice.

We had warnings.

Ebola, SARS and MERS

should have thought them something.

But who are we?

Only experts

with clipped wings,

clamped beaks

and inadequate PPE.

These decisions

are unfortunately

far beyond

our reach.

So what to do?

Give ‘em the two’s?

Say

“Screw you

AND

your bent rules”

“I refuse

to be misused”

But can you imagine

what would happen

if we all downed tools?

It wouldn’t hurt those in greed,

we’d cut off our nose

and spite those

most in need.

I’m surprisingly not bitter

or frustrated.

It might sound sad,

but it’s what we expected.

No respect.

Again.

Reports of cuts to Healthcare wages,

being explained

by the cost of contingency

like the NHS Nightingale.

Which you could accept,

except,

you’ve got receptionists at The Excel

offered salaries

that would make a Clinical Sister weep.

You’ve got cabinet members

cashing in on the crisis,

Reese-Mogg

feeding off

the country’s demise.

Again,

no surprises.

You’ve got billionaire tight arses

Branson, Martin and Green

discarding staff into poverty

whilst they still live the dream.

Obscene.

I wish this was a dream.

Alas not,

I lost the plot,

it’s a living nightmare,

I forgot.

It’s the one,

where I’m meant to be

a ‘hero’,

but I’m donning

the wrong coat.

I’m just an average Joe

with a stethoscope,

and a pocket full of hope.