The Disaffected Middle-Aged Women are having a spell in hospital …
A ward where women fight cirrhosis
Cysts or endometriosis
Battling germs with hourly doses
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
Sutures, dressings and a clip
Special socks so we don’t slip
En route to the loo with an IV drip
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
Our eyes and wounds are prone to weeping
We’re awake but rather would be sleeping
Because of that infernal bleeping
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
We came here hobbling on the bus
We didn’t want to make a fuss
But now they’re mopping up the pus
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
We’re struggling with the bandage flaps
And half-filled cheese and onion baps
Bring yoghurt and falafel wraps!
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
Bring crosswords or we’ll get so bored
Put Call The Midwife on ‘record’
And rename this the DMAW ward
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
And if Theresa bloody May
Dares show her face round here today
She’ll regret it – that’s all I’ll say
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
We know the score, we’re smart and suss
We’ll tie the Tories in a truss
Save the NHS cos it saves us
We’re Disinfected Middle-Aged Women
This poem is included in the book, The Big J vs The Big C: issues, experiences and poems in the battle against breast cancer
