Tick tock, tick tock,

beats time, life’s clock

Vital organ, blocked vein,

chest pain, blood clot

Paramedics, sirens wail,

poorly patient, looks pale.

Rapid admission, theatre prep’t,

hands washed, ready for the boss.

 

The surgeon, the man,

the star of the show,

is all masked up and ready to go.

Anaesthetist fires the first shot,

which soon takes effect

and the show kicks off

Instruments are honed

and primed for the cause,

as next on the list your name is called

 

Your life in his hands,

no time for thoughts

If you were paying him yourself

there would be too many noughts,

to fill in on the ensuing cheque,

but you’re in on the NHS instead

By using all the skills he’s learned,

his studies, the lectures,

his experiences for better or worse

He takes control, you’re close to death,

but you’re saved from taking your last breath

 

He brings you back to the here and now

but doesn’t need to take a bow

Any time of day or night, he doesn’t shirk

Being your Cardiologist its all in a days work

Not a shred of gratitude expected, or noted

no, not one aorta, and he has no arterial motive.

 

Tick tock, tick tock, beats again, life’s clock