THE WAITING ROOM

THE WAITING ROOM -

Ah! The waiting room ever so crowded,

‘Cause every bugger and his dog;

‘Twas intentionally intent

Of trying to crowd together, 

Into this real tiny room,

By crowding in for the record,

To be included in the Book of Guiness;

In the section

Of Most Patients in a Doctor’s Waiting Room,

So, without too much effort;

Where normally a cat could be swung,

But no! Not on this day the first day of winter,

For in this elegant plush room;

Known normally,

Of where you got to read a glossie edition mag,

Even a placcy cup of water,

But here today for wanting,

On the other hand; 

This rather large gathering

Had gathered,

All waiting in anticipation for the one,

The one who called the tune,

Not the individual who changed the music,

Or tidied up the mags.

So as my eyes transfixed;

To what had become sardine tight,

In this room known exclusively for medical miracles,

There was the one;

Who leaned on aluminum crutches,

Mainly for supportive comfort sort,

In being plastered caste

From the shoulders down to toes,

Because, it was he who sung a great operatic tune,

Penned by the mighty Puccini, 

On a drunken binge one night,

“I have a broken leg today.”

Then bonny boy,

Perched precariously;

On mother’s crumbling leg,

All he could do was utter this pathetic cry;

For nasty blotted spots,

Had taken place,

On face,

On bum,

All over legs,

And stomach for good measure,

Then as a duo they did swing,

To a tune,

Written by good old Molly M,

“Measles are cheap today!

With a week on the wag.”

Then at the equivalent time,

Pretty young thing;

Comprehending,

Digesting,

Pouring over a previous year’s copy of Cleo,

As over and over she read,

And by the size of her navel,

Sticking out ponderously,

For inside her enormous gut,

Youngest baby is hoping like all hell

By next Tuesday week will be able to sing,

Englebert’s classic, “Please release me,

Let me go I’ve been a prisoner inside!

For the last nine months or so.”

Oh! It was well past the time of day,

Appropriately called the high noon,

And still the waiting room,

With numbers still kinda fluctuating,   

Opened up its arms

As a steady trickle

Of sick,

Of feeble,

Of coughing fits,

Of sore thumbs,

And painful bums

And for those here for a doctor’s certificate,

In order to claim a sickie from work,

Steadily filed through this door.

Then big bad tattooed bushy Bob;

Who drove for a living?

Up and down the Newell,

All the way from Brissie to Melbourne,

On most days of the week,

And sometimes on a Sundie in a Big Mac rig,

Never had much time

For being stood down on downtime,

Stood up abruptly from his seat,

And belted out this mournful tune,

 “Can’t complain about the service today”

Penned by Donovan,

Back in the turbulent 60’s,

When effected by pot

Or even something worse,

Flower Power.

As Aunty Mary sweet old thing,

Had sat awhile,

Quiet as a church mouse,

Strode up to counter to be greeted

By sweet young thing, 

Sitting behind the counter singing,

“How much is that doggie in the potato sack?

Well you and your mongrel pooch; 

Will have to leave and go somewhere else,

A Vet is up the road,

And when you come again,

Put your bloody specs on!

After all this is the place

Where the sick parade, 

Will take and gather.”

And then the Waiting Room;

Finally had a break! 

With a touch of golden silence,

As this rich deep velvety kind of voice;

Stood up, 

And sang at the top of his choral range,

A bush ballad, 

Penned by the mighty Slim,

“My boomerang did come back,

And that is the reason why I’m here today,

For it’s now stickin out me noggin.”

At long last when the big hand,

Had touch and caressed, 

High up on the clock,

The number twelve,

And the little hand

Had embraced the number six,

That sweet young thing; 

Sitting behind the counter

Sang in the highest key,

Of John Lennon’s immortal classic,

“TIME! Ladies and Gentlemen;

And for good measure

When you leave today,

Don’t slam the bleeding door

I’ve just about had a gutful.”

Then in a moment of time, 

Just a little later,

As big hand on Big Ben,

Touched and caressed the number three.

Silence became paramount!

You could almost hear a pin

On its way to terra firma SCREAM!

For there was grinding of one’s gums,

And gnashing of some teeth,

‘Cause when the final count was done,

The Guinness record was short

By one lousy person!

And Aunty Mary’s;

Pet poodle pooch

Of a bitzer named “Old Fred;”

Just because he had the Duck’s Disease,

Wasn’t allowed to be included

In the Guinness Book of Records,

For most people in a Waiting Room.