Tuesday, December 18, 2012


Almost a year to the day since I visited Pearse Hutchinson in St James Hospital and found him in great form. He talked  about a nurse he met on his ward; I said he should write the poem; he said he was old and needed to rest that I should  write it.That was our last conversation.

A poem
you said I should write. 

An African nurse on your ward,
born the day after her  grandmother died,
called Yesterday. 

She was gone as soon,
nurses from the agency come and go;
good relationships are important
for the patients, you explained. 

And now you are gone;
is this that poem?

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