[F.F. Teague]

And now for something new.

I'll be posting this poem at Freshtival too, but here I'm including the music bit.


Trip 1 of 3

Enjoy this trip
Enjoy this trip
And it is a trip
Countdown is progressing

Uno dos
Uno, dos, tres, quatro

[Dag-a-dag-a-dag, dag-a-dag-a-dag!]

F'Express


The trolley-bed awaiting me is close yet miles away.
I start to rise, get on my feet. 'Come on, come on!' I say.
The spasms start again. I scream, I roar. The pain is wild.
I want my mum. I'm 41 and suddenly a child.
I grab the bed and sit. 'No, sweet. Get on it properly now.'
I try. I scream. They grab my leg. I cry, 'Ow-ow-ow-ow...'
'What's going on?' A voice outside the curtains, soft and clear.
'They're [sigh],' Bro. A. explains. Then something else I can't quite hear.
A yellow pipe appears. It smokes. 'Inhale, good girl,' says Chong.
I breathe in breathe out, play the pipe. My woodwind lungs are strong.
The nurses blur, the spasms shrink. The curtains sway and part.
Bro. A. and Tess are here. Tess holds her hand against her heart.
'Hey yous!' I say. They hold my feet. She's left and he is right.
They raise and shift. They watch my face. We're spinning through the night.
I start to sing, of Mol' Malone, fair Dublin, pretty girls,
the cockles, mussels turn and turn in rushing rainbow whirls.
Now Brother A. is saying, 'Partly Irish', to a nurse
and Chong has finished bandaging. 'Good! Now it won't get worse.'
The spinning's slowing. Brother A. and Tess have left the room.
My clothes come off and I'm re-dressed in square-print gown of gloom.
The pain again. My nails are knives. I stab my wrist, my palm.
I whimper. Teddy Teague appears. He whispers, 'Just keep calm.'
'To AMU!' says Chong. 'Good luck,' he adds and pats my hand.
We ride to station no. 2 in Gloucester Hospiland.