You can meet
Life and Death in the
Waiting room of any hospital

Where the Maker sends
His products
With parts
Worn, torn or never born

Internal passageways blocked
With the ash of
A million cigarettes
Larded with the residue
Of one meal too many

Half-despatched from
The world by
Speeding vehicles
Or minds scrambled
By relentless grief

Hope flickers as the
Soldiers line up
Their arsenal
Of tools, medicines
And little white lies

What will be
The toll on the
Battlefield today?
Only the waiting room knows