Sunday, July 06, 2025

WILLESDEN CENTRE FOR HEALTH AND CARE

 Is this a strange place to be writing poetry?

Wouldn’t sitting over strong black coffee

In the corner of some bohemian café,

Whilst intense intellectual discussions raged

Be the best place to compose odes?

Shouldn’t I be scripting in my well-worn notebook?

Not scribbling on a torn off piece

Of an egg salad sandwich wrapper,

Resting on a formica table top,

In the echoing health centre café?

Where the very old and very young

And infirm come to eat some

Baked beans fried bread and such

Which doesn’t cost much;

Whilst waiting for bloods to be drawn,

For wounds to be bandaged

For toenails to be cut and filed.

Here where healthcare is still free,

Where they don’t let you

Bleed uncared for

With no one to stop it,

Unless there’s a way to

Turn pain into profit.

 

 

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