he waits at the entrance
in the weakest PPE
not deemed that important
has no nursing degree
he's the first to meet the patient
in terror of a disease
he lifts them to the trolley
his muscles ache and burn
wheels them down the passage
that few will return
he doesn't know the patients name
there is so little time to learn
the patient lips are moving
to out of breath to speak
holds their hand out for comfort
the grasp so slight and weak
the porter rubs it gently
the future is looking bleak
there is no bed available
there is no treating space
there are no caring staff
for a patients trust to place
just a low grade porter
with a caring face
he has to move more patients
more bodies to remove
but returns to the dying patient
their anxiety to sooth
a caring touch of humanity
with no targets to improve
he was there at the dying
that no one was to blame
the system in total meltdown
that ministers shift the blame
on the toe a corpses label
too late they know the name
end of shift in the car park
of a hospital where patients die
in every car of care workers
burnt out they sob and cry
the porter coughs and is breathless
knows how he's going to die
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