Why I never write poetry

Out of the box

He sent out a text from his hospital bed
Can you bring in my lap-top? Was meant to be read
And please send some biscuits in with Ted
As I’m now nil by mouth and I need to be fed.
And please let the pigeons out of the shed
Ignore all the mess, just mind where you tread
When I see that trolley it fills me with dread
They’re treating me like I’m damn nearly dead
I’m so bloody cross I can only see red
It’s doing my brain in…it feels just like lead
And in fact he had really done in his head
As he keeled over backwards right off the bed
The alarms were flashing in blue and in red
And the patterns on screen were no longer a zed
But seemed to be straight lines pictured instead
While his mobile vibrated just under his head
With an incoming message that never got read
Saying run out of credit and signal’s gone dead
And we’ll pass on the news to Joan and to Fred
But the nurse had to text the reply instead
He’s taken a turn for the worse she said
I advise that the pigeons stay in the shed
And cancel the biscuits, he’s already dead.