Written on the occasion of the Labour Party’s campaign day for the NHS.
It isn’t my humour
That sees off my tumour
Or my banter and mocking derision
It isn’t my laugh
But the medical staff
And their caring, their skills, their precision
Being mouthy and tough
Just isn’t enough
To see off the murderous cells
Brashness and bragging
Coolness and swaggering
Do no better than snake oil or gels
Yes, a fighter am I
And will be till I die
Not just to the lump in my breast
I will be to my death
To my last, final breath
A defender of our NHS.
