Some poems I have written about the helath service

Poems from the health service

At the ward, Michael Henrik Wynn
Nurse! Nurse! Come quickly!
I am in pain, when will my doctor come?
“I cannot say, I just passed by.
Have you submitted your forms?
Are you registered?
If every paragraph is obeyed,
then surely he will be here soon?”

Nurse! Nurse! Come quickly!
I am in pain, when will my doctor come?
“But, my dear man, look at your neighbor,
how he suffers too?
Is your life worth more than his?
If you are worthy of treatment,
Then surely he will be here soon?”

Nurse! Nurse! Come quickly!
I am in pain, when will my doctor come?
“When the moon climbs high over yonder ridge,
When boughs stir in the gentle breeze
and a starry carpet unfolds above,
in soft tweets and rippling brooks,
in the sigh of evening, in dawn and morning mist.”

Under the Universe, by Michael Henrik Wynn
Seen from any hill
where stars shoot across the night sky
warm breath
becomes frozen steam.

White illumination
gleams through cracks in curtains.
as resting homes, hospitals…even prisons
blend as shadows.

Paid care moves
over polished floors
hard soles on shiny surfaces
echoes of sterile silence.

Doors are closed,
by creak or metallic clanks,
a machinery will shut down
only by rehearsed commands.

A solitary substitute
will now distribute pathogens of life,
a magazine, a pill or loneliness,
remedies for memory.

Acute deafness
When an old woman dies,
her face is washed in the sand
where naked children play,
the clocks fall silent.
Ding dang dong,
the bells say gone.
Flowers wither
like regular steps over linoleum,
divine choreography, our sincere condolences.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Fingers drum like drops of rain on the office desk
while each man reaches for his umbrella:
Can you hear what we’re saying? Can you hear what we’re saying?
About forms that must be completed
because the curtains must be drawn aside
before you can sleep.