Poem submitted by Simon McKeown
Nurses, doctors and porters come in threes.
I wait in shelter, for my bus to come,
As if for pay-day or the summertime.
How I crave the sunshine on my neck,
Beer in the garden of the pub -
Pushing away the mozzies and the flies,
Listening to the tired children’s cries
And the shattered parents’ sighs.
And later to feel the sting of sunburn in the bath,
Those months when all of nature has a laugh.