Day Job I’m a pill dispenser A minor ailment trip advisor A supposed healthcare provider With an IQ that sits at about eye level Glaring dimly back at you My consultation room Homes myriad news From scrotal itching to leukemia associated bleeding and misspent youth But bring it on I’ll listen At least until you begin to drizzle About my role as Gatekeeper Forlorn bouncer Of the mighty National Health Service Occasionally they’ll switch it up Giving me muck “A doctor can tell what’s wrong with you from the way you walk through the door” An old woman tells me As I look perplexedly At the low density pixels The comprise her daughters Slightly red, dry facial skin… I have a mind to tell her off To question her semi-mystical bollocks But I don’t The GP is Gandalf Forget Catholic priests Transubstantiating wine in to blood How about Diprobase Which you typically slather on your face Transmogrifying Into a health-promoting lion I, on the other hand, am a muppet A primate Two arms, two legs and a tenth of the ephemeral energy Lacking in the sensory capacity To understand the exact density Of the chakras Birthing From vigorous Vexing Dry skin... But you’re in my domain wench! Feast your eyes On the big surprise That I can provide Cream! And Chlorphenamine! So when we are trying to keep the itch at bay Your daughter can nod off and dream a dream That hopefully doesn’t involve me