A Game of
Hide and Seek
Her last chip, this London hospital,
Clinical records given the slip somewhere in Kent,
A scribbled note from her GP, she sat before this consultant
with a new-born’s medical history.
Lottery numbers excitement as he nodded at her narrative,
Flourish of his fountain pen and she was entombed in an MRI
machine,
when her tight lipped body foiled his lines of enquiry
I think we’ll keep an eye on you,
knowing some disorders play a game of hide and seek.
Writing degree essays in the waiting room
gave way to marking kid’s homework
as check-ups routinely reassured her
I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.
So for years she didn’t.
Fiona Sinclair
If
you have any comments on this poem, Fiona Sinclair would be
pleased to hear from you.
