Will George Poet

The Health Centre.


Mint green the walls;

Antiseptic the presumption;

The sick wait, line up, seated;

Sharing news of each other.


Nurses, receptionists, manage;

the flow of disease and human complaint.

Aches and pains are assessed,

empathy given or remedies exchanged.


The Physician consults within her conclave;

Time allotted to the extent of the preamble;

Some responses repetitive for those regular;

Habitual illnesses require habitual attention.


The scourge of humanity is the constant assault.

Bacteria and age claim an equal role.

The body adjusts and compensates,

eventually worn down by the effort, fails.


Modern life and modern remedy comes in a tube or a bottle.

Chemicals intended to cure often cause side-effects.

What solutions are prescribed to ensure longevity?

Are all entitled to eke out existence?


Life full or fuller, which is it?

Are the moans reflective of suffering,

or is the pain of moaning a part of the norm?

Can we hope for something more?


and ten years seem like an eternity!

Beyond this span do we earn the greater reward?

Will we earn or gain a better insight into life's tribulations?

Perhaps we will reach a superior position!


Mint green walls remain.

Human traffic follows the designate route;

Speed is not a prerequisite;

Life must amble to death at its preferred pace.


Will George © May 31, 2004