The Poem Shop

Following the whinging rhyme of the beginning of the month, it’s “back to back” with this one:

To put on my socks I am not always able

so am soon to be etherised and laid on a table.

When wincing with pain I can now gain some solace

from a grommet of sorts: a device known as Wallis.

Yes, it soon will be mine -

it will lodge in my spine

and widen the channels that have narrowed with time -

I shan’t need a walking stick – oh how sublime!

If my surgeon, who’s Swedish, succeeds with this op

I’ll feast on raw herring in that furniture shop.

Yes, I’ll read Ingmar Bergman, I’ll sing Mamma Mia

then spend hours just trying to get out of IKEA!

My disc has slipped, the one betwixt L5 and Sacral 1

I fear it can’t be simply fixed, can anything be done?

Maybe an op in which they’d chop the bit that is extending

and pressing on my nerves real sore whenever I am bending.

Once more under the surgeon’s knife or maybe laser beam -

what a shame I am not rich enough to belong to a private scheme;

for then I could be Freda Payne (remember Band of Gold?)

Sure it’s not much fun to be cracking up before I’m really old.

No, I think I’ll have to wait a while to have that helpful op -

that’s unless you all get ordering

some verse from The Poem Shop!