Many of my poems are satirical. For example, in a coughing fit, I dislodged my prosthetic speaking valve in the Trachea, and swallowed it. Luckily it went down into the stomach and not the lungs. Holding the 'Dilator' in position with one hand to keep the fistula open, I drove one handed into my hospital, direct to the Ear Nose and Throat ward, where I knew Nursing Sister Barbara Wagstaff would be on duty. Being totally unable to speak, I wrote this note to her before I left the car park
Dear Babs, you must please forgive me,
I've lost your Blom Singer valve.
I coughed, and it became free,
so I write, my conscience to salve,
I coughed and then I swallowed it,
to a darker recess it went.
Speechless, but anger made me spit,
such surroundings it never was meant.
But please instead of charging me,
could we wait until it's passed through,
to use as a spare, and quite happy,
if you want it for stock as new.
Maybe you should warn Speech Therapy,
as a new branch of medicine is here,
so they can deal with ' Words Free,'
that are now coming out of the rear.