Mayor pens poem about her A & E experience

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Mayor pens poem about her A & E experience

Fermoy Mayor, Olive Corcoran, a member of the Elbow Lane Poetry Group, penned a poem about her recent experience in A&E at Cork University Hospital.

Monday, 23 September 2013
10:00 AM GMT



Mayor Olive Corcoran found herself in A&E at Cork University Hospital on a recent Saturday night after a fall left her with cracked ribs.

It moved Olive, a member of the Elbow Lane Poetry Group, to pen a poem about the experience. She recited the poem at a recent poetry group gathering in Elbow Lane where it drew praise from her colleagues-in-verse.

She also sent it on to the well known potter and poet Louis Mulcahy who congratulated her on it.

The Mayor was full of praise for the hard working staff of CUH and stresses that it's the system that's at fault in leaving sick and injured people for long periods before being seen in A & Es.

Here's the Mayor's poem:

 

Where Have All the Politicians Gone?

 

Cork University Hospital

Opened rectangular jaws

In a mist, nicotine, alcohol,

Disinfectant, perspiration.

'Smoke-free zone' blared

Doggedly in the background.

Angelus bells chimed

Somewhere in the city-

Six o'clock.

 

Squeamishly they sat, pain

Etched in old Cork faces

They'd been there for hours,

Perched on hard adjoining chairs,

One in a wheelchair, frail,

Butterfly light, steel grey eyes

Staring at off-white walls,

Her credentials-beads in her pocket.

Eight o'clock.

 

Pain on hallowed, furrowed faces,

Lost in thoughts of times gone by,

When nurses perched chattily on beds.

Robots in scrubs scurried by,

Focused faces, expressionless, adamant

On health and safety issues.

The butterfly swayed in her sodden

Wheelchair, lonely, limp and lost.

Twelve o'clock.

 

An old man sighed, corrugated fingers

On calloused hands twitched

As he viewed the newcomers

Sip cups of tea and buttered toast,

Drooling in their drunkenness,

Broken noses, bloodied faces,

All patched up, tended to, swaying

To the exit and waiting taxis.

Two o’clock.

 

A child cried, a mother sighed

In silent resignation.

The butterfly silently slid

From her perch, wasted.

As I walked towards the jaws

At five o’clock, I prayed

Lord, when my time comes

Let me die in my bed, away from here,

The Cork University A&E.



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