Diagnosis

Maybe there is a touch of melancholy in all poets, which may account for this poem I wrote after a particularly difficult day in the Microbiology Laboratory I spent 42 years working in. I’m retired now and it was written pre-covid, obviously, but it seems just as relevant now. My son now works in the same laboratory and i keep in touch with former colleagues, so I know how much pressure they are under these days. Biomedical Scientists, and their equivalents, are very much a forgotten army but they are dedicated, highly skilled and deserve to be recognised for the difficult and indispensable job they do. They are hurting, but they carry on behind the scenes as always.

There now, that made me feel better!

Diagnosis .

I’ve changed your life.
I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.
I found your blood was tainted, 
that’s all.

You see,
your name was reduced
to a number,
your face, unknown to me.

Safer that way, no eyes
to stream, no mouth
to tremble, no skin
to shiver.

Have we met?, 
In the streets perhaps,
too busy to acknowledge
our presence there.

Have we talked?
Shared a laugh, a secret.
Have we shook hands?,
agreed, disagreed,… forgotten.

No matter now,
this shift is over
and the day greets my face
with a gentle touch.

Out here, life is stirring.
Cling to yours,                                                                                                              but don’t show me your face.
There is, after all,

a safety in numbers.
                                                                                                                               Derek Ross