THE WAITING ROOM

By The Urban Poet

Waiting for our Dad outside the pub

Told to be quiet as children should

Sharing a packet of Smiths crisps

With blue salt bags, in the evening mist

 

Waiting downstairs as the Doctor arrives

To examine my Father who nearly died

Tuberculosis was rife in those days

Chips wrapped in paper, not on plastic trays

 

Waiting at the Labour Exchange to get a job

Needed to be working to earn a few bob

No internet to search for employment 

Hunting jobs down was part of the enjoyment

 

Waiting at maternity for our first baby

Before you know it she turns into a lady

Our next one too, they’re all grown up

With kids of their own, a cat and a pup

 

Waiting at the hospital to see a consultant 

A mystery illness that’s made me redundant

Has left them all scratching their heads

Years have now past and I’m laid up in bed

 

Waiting at home for the GP to call

I’ve not been well and had a bad fall

“You need to take respite and your Carer too

They’ll do everything for you, even the loo”

 

Waiting at the care home for the nurse to call 

And relatives to come, ‘else I’ll go up the wall

Before I know it my time will come soon

To transfer to God’s own waiting room