Blessed be the registrar who snatches sleep in on-call rooms,
who showers when she can, eats on the hoof, intends
to brush her hair quite soon. Blessed be her love of tea,
chocolate, coffee, Lucozade that gets her through these nights.
I praise her lack of social life, her duty to those stretchered in,
wheeled from blue-light ambulances to her intensive care. I laud
and praise her knowledge that she hopes will heal their hurt
or break bad news to loved ones with compassion, with respect.
And some time on from the end of shift I bless her journey to the flat—
yesterday stacked in the sink, nothing in the fridge again.
Hilary Robinson is a retired primary schoolteacher in the final year of a poetry MA at Manchester Metropolitan University. She lives in Saddleworth and has been published in the Interpreter’s House, Avis, A New Manchester Alphabet, Manchester Cathedral Magazine and Beautiful Dragons Press.