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A Game of Hide and Seek
 
Her last chip, this London hospital,
Clinical records given the slip somewhere in Kent,
A scribbled note from her GP, she sat before this consultant
with a new-bornís medical history.
Lottery numbers excitement as he nodded at her narrative,
Flourish of his fountain pen and she was entombed in an MRI machine,
when her tight lipped body foiled his lines of enquiry
I think weíll keep an eye on you,
knowing some disorders play a game of hide and seek.
Writing degree essays in the waiting room
gave way to marking kidís homework
as check-ups routinely reassured her
I donít think thereís anything to worry about.
So for years she didnít.

Fiona Sinclair

If you have any comments on this poem, Fiona Sinclair would be pleased to hear from you.

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