the agency got me a delivery number
driving a white panel van taking medical kit
to ill sick people across the county
first I had to find the equipment in the warehouse
picking up bedpans lifts ramps hoists the docket said
load these into the van working from supposed 8 to 5
finding my route via paper plan & sat nav
to remote places I had no ideas as to where
I was always late finishing no time for coffee
one handed eating a sandwich other driving
running onto the next the next stop dropping off
you know I quit not that I couldn’t get the job done
finishing most of my days sometimes after seven
but because
the people I delivered to bald headed angels
glowing with spirituality the serenity of close death
fierce cold coursing deep in their fine blue veins
frail old men in never got out of rancid beds
waving to me quietly pleased to see a live body
someone new tending to their terminal needs
glittering eyes in white faces from their loved ones
me a fresh face to speak to in their grind of living hell
but because
I was not strong enough to take these blows
killing me too slow in their pain of always arriving late
leaving too soon to go on to another level of pain