Poems
Private Enterprise Takes Over the NHS
Dear client, hold the line, since all our operators
are busy at the moment. You are currently number 836
in the queue, and we hope that you’ll enjoy at least eighty
replays of the Four Seasons.
If your problem is a minor one such as ingrowing toenails
or a repetition of that embarrassing rash, try again
next year; if you’re imminently dying, please replace
the handset, since we’ll never get to you in time.
Should you have any three of the twenty symptoms on list
B65, then drink two pints of water, and lie down with a clove
of garlic in your left ear. It won’t make any difference, but it’s nice
to have something to do. If you have four of these symptoms,
you’re already dead, and, should you have five or more,
you’re a raving hypochondriac, and should take two of the pills
marked F4 from the green bottle. In fact, swallow the lot.
Finally, please note, that in the interests of financial efficiency,
all operations will be performed by a robot
controlled by a dodgy line
from our call centre in Inverness.
Have a good day, while it lasts. We’re fine.
Published in The Hippocrates Prize Anthology, 2022