This sonnet goes out to poor old Geoffrey
In hospital again, recovering
From seven hours of painful surgery
For bowel blockage that caused vomiting
And sharp pains, an ambulance transporting
Him there so soon after pneumonia
Had laid him low. The two coinciding
Might have finished him off, but he’s better
Already, adrift in morphine stupor.
My mum and her friend accompanied me
To his bedside, surrounded by a ring
Of bags and tubes, and a screen with data
Displayed (healthy heart rate, pulse and BP).
The pretty nurse knows he’s back in the swing.
Sun 6 Apr 2008
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