Touch my head,

Touch my toes,

Never go

In one of those;

 

My warding-off rhyme, as a snotnosed kid

Fear tightenng my chest

Whenever I saw their white shape weaving

Through traffic; or heard their urgent bells on the main road.

Always, it meant trouble - someone gasping on a carpet:

“Meat wagons”, my dad would call them, dredging up

Words from his war, when they hosed them out,

Their floors red with shedding.

 

Women down our street would stop their gossip

And nod, knowingly, at these omens on wheels;

Wishing them on their way elsewhere, the clang

Diminishing to distance; a slight pause

Then everyone pretended nowt had happened,

While those who summoned the pale carriage, elsewhere,

By paradox, were willing its approaching siren stronger.

 

These days, I’ve been in so many ambulances.

They’ve grown to be part of my life.

Bigger, yellow, and friendlier now somehow, these days;

But they still barge along the road wailing

Like widows, their blue lights strobing distress

In all directions.

 

I can handle it better now, though; now I’ve been in one -

Been to the terminus, been that sick white face

Above the orange blanket on the trolley.

Slam the doors, accelerate away, woo-wooing.

Been there, done that, and now, 

 

I no longer dread all ambulances;

Just the last one.