The Doctors Visit.
I went along to see my doctor just the other day.
I said to the receptionist I'd like to see him right away.
Now, I suppose I should be grateful to get on the surgery list.
First I have a consultation with the receptionist.
She's there to guard the doctor, like a sentry at the door.
She paces behind the counter, to keep her doctor from the poor.
'Is it trouble with your piles?' she calls out with a snarl.
'Or maybe feeling poorly, suffering from low morale?'
I said, 'I just want to see my doctor,' with a small embarrassed laugh.
She replied, 'if you only want to see him, I'll get you a photograph.'
I finally got an appointment, it was for ten days hence.
Suppose to everyone bar the patient the long wait must make sense.
If it is an emergency I could notify them by letter.
If it isn't quite that bad, then I've got ten days to get better.
I know they can't do anything for the common cold or flu.
But what if one of me legs fell off, then what would I do?
Still I could sit here in the waiting room, in case of cancellation.
Hearing about David's measles, or Miss Jones' constipation.
Mr Brown sat on the other side, moaning with his gout.
I'm beginning to feel better, well, you do when you get out.
In the corner some runny noses going in to see the doctor soon.
It really would be better if they tried to sniff in tune.
One lad will need the doctor, of that I am quite certain.
The dragon behind the counter saw him wipe his nose upon her curtain.
So I waited for three hours, till a cleaner said to me.
'I'd come back again tommorrow, love, they've all gone home for tea.'
I replied, 'I don't think I will bother, it was nothing dire.'
I only came in to tell the doctor that his house had caught on fire.
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