By 14th March 2011December 9th, 2019No Comments

“Red call please”, Its two in the morning,
Call comes through without a warning.
“Woman, 30, short of breath”,
We hit the road to stop her death.

She’s somewhere in the heart of town,
Blue strobes flash, we hurtle down.
Taxis flash and steer away
To not impede us on our way

Drunks shout crudely as we pass,
One bends down and shows his arse
In the road; we have to swerve
And brake, not hit this bon viveur

Traffic lights have gone to red,
We bleed off speed and check ahead
One car waiting, has it seen us?
Our green and yellow, blue-light bus.

Edging through, we keep on searching,
way is clear, accelerating.
Sat Nav states “Near destination”
It’s the night club by the station.

We park and take our medical kit
And struggle through the crowd with it
The doorman says “Not called from here,
I’ve checked and we are in the clear”

A shout then ”Tossers! Over ‘ere,
I’ve waited long enough
I’m dying, I need medicine,
Listen to me…”

Mark Rand

Author Mark Rand

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