Not A Patriot - A POEM

It’s late 2015, I go on holiday,

I drive, 700km with my wife and daughter,

With the intention of,

Spending a week, trying to relax,

Away from all the shit,

Away from it all.

A few days in,

My wife’s father,

83 years of age,

Has a nasty fall,

Some 700km away,

He’s not doing well,

So the next day

We decide to drive back,

Some 700km.

We leave so early,

That even the birds

Are still asleep.

The drive is long,

I’m a good driver,

But I have to make frequent stops,

To nap.

I’m a Type 1 Diabetic,

And I start to worry

About my health.

Anyway, we arrive back home

We go and see the old man

He’s in even worse condition,

In a state hospital,

The shittiest of them all,

The nurse shows zero

Compassion

Big surprise; fuck all regard

Visiting hours end,

We go home.

That same night,

My wife’s father passes on

They tell us nothing,

But he died; that’s all

They know

Big surprise; fuck all regard

The next day we go to visit

My mother in law

In frail care,

To tell her the news.

We spend some time there,

But I am feeling unwell

I begin to feel nauseous.

I go to lie down, but the feeling

Will not subside, will not abate.

Within moments, I end up

being rushed to hospital,

Admitted, for Diabetic Ketoacidosis

On the day my wife’s father dies,

I am kept there for four days,

First in ICU,

Then in a general ward,

I cannot contact my wife

For the first two days,

In her time of great need,

Anyway, I pulled through,

A few weeks later

Came the funeral,

It was a trying time,

But we made it,

We pulled through,

Thinking, 2016

Will be better.

But it wasn’t

I resigned from the job,

That was effectively

Killing me

When I told them,

I’m resigning with immediate

Effect, they told me

I’m talking shit,

Making it up

To get out

Begged me to work

A month’s notice

Big surprise; fuck all regard

So then I made, a complete career change

From being away from my family,

My wife and kids,

Spending my time with cunts,

Making money for cunts,

Risking my life,

To working from home,

Online, in my pyjamas

If I please,

We learned we were pregnant

Woohoo, it’s a boy

But this boy ate,

And ate, and ate,

Almost ate my wife

From the inside, out

He was born, early,

36 weeks premature,

If he’d stayed in, any longer

He’d probably have killed her

Anyhow, they cut him out

He’s here, a happy,

Hungry little boy,

Yep, still hungry

In the meantime,

I worked, hard

To find a new job

I went through rigorous training

Programs, days, at a time

Only to be dropped,

Even though, I had

All the knowledge, and skill required

Big surprise; fuck all regard

I soldiered on, eventually

I found something

It wasn’t great

It didn’t really fit

With my ethics

Their system was totally,

Unabashedly, unethical

But I tried

Then, our internet went

For a ball of shit

The service provider,

Couldn’t do shit

We called, numerous times

Logging complaints,

Requesting assistance

From July, to December

I had no job

I couldn’t work

Couldn’t pay my debt

Can’t buy my kids, my wife,

A fucking Christmas present

Debt collectors, breathing

Down my neck

Banks, creditors, the works

All after me, sending me

Nasty letters, emails

With arrogant threats

Of legal action

Even after I’d explained

My circumstances

Big surprise; fuck all regard

And people wonder why

I’m not a patriot

© Dean R Boic 2016