Back Again
I was back in the Hospital, yes, once again
With a troublesome chest that’s been causing me pain
It was one in the morning and feeling quite rough
I thought ‘indigestion’ but I’d had enough
The ambulance came in a flash – most impressive
ECG’s, blood pressure – nothing excessive
A & E – four hours then off to the ward
A cannula's like being put to the sword
Covered in pads and electric wires trailing
With noises of snoring and groaning and wailing
At last settled down at a quarter past five
I’m tired and uncomfortable but still alive
The man in the other bed just wants to chat
About his old motorbike. I don’t need that
His trips to the U. S. where he took up bowling
Can he take a hint? Can’t he see my eyes rolling?
He has worked Southend Pier since seventy one
Maintaining the bowling lanes. Still he's not done
They’re checking his blood now. My chance to break free
We’ve talked about him. He knows nothing of me
I know that his throat has been causing him gyp
I heard of his cycle ride – oh what a trip
Where downhill at 60 his speed reached its max
With no helmet, no padding his legs smoothed and waxed
He survived the event by the skin of his teeth
I pull up the blanket to slide underneath
He needs now to tell me how he arrived here
I brace myself manly. More stories I fear
He collapsed at the post office HQ in town
Collecting a parcel and then he fell down
They shut up the office as fast as they could
He lay on the floor like a stiff plank of wood
And here he is now telling tales of his life
He lives with his brother. He hasn’t a wife
He travels to bike shows at the NEC
He won’t take a breath. Still knows nothing of me
More facts spill out and I find it appalling
He keeps an old Triumph beneath a tarpaulin
He’s been on long trips with a friend in a lorry
He took lots of photos. I can’t say I’m sorry
He’s left them at home. Oh thank goodness for that
And then he moved on to an ‘accident’ that
Occurred in flash as his bike took to air
He side-swiped a coach. He cried out in despair
The remains of his bike on the roadside were strewn
His torso outlined like a Warner’s cartoon
I'm now going to rip all these wires from my chest
And crawl over to him and grab his string vest
I'll shake him until his teeth rattle and clack
And then roll him over and sit on his back
I'll push his head into his pillow for sure
To silence his racket. Then head for the door
I’m positive there's not a judge in this land
On hearing my story would not understand
Why my actions were drastic and quite understandable
Because all his tales were forever expandable
Just forty minutes I managed to sleep
There’s lots more to tell but I think that can keep
I don’t want you thinking I talk far too much
Just e-mail or text me and I’ll keep in touch
