Health Service-The Beginning or End?

I am often told that I’m getting old,

 just a moaning irascible cynic,

like Victor Meldrew, I turn the air blue;

Don’t believe it, they’re opening a clinic.

Branching into health, private care by stealth,

Morrisons’ email boasts their new offers;

The empty high street is dead on its feet,

our health the next target for their coffers.

Our GPs could do with a new room or two,

and if you drive there’s nowhere to park it,

 I rant and curse in my latest outburst,

Clinic in the bloody supermarket!

Not content I add, the world’s going mad,

while shopping, is Botox something you need?

It can’t just be me, Dawn don’t you agree?

Lately her face is difficult to read.

The cream cakes and pies won’t go to your thighs,

offers on weight loss jabs will see you right;

Their pastries and chips won’t fatten your hips,

a little jab stops your jeans getting tight.

Women all smiles, in the frozen food aisles,

menopause sweats flushed away by laughter;                        

Discuss your ills with the blokes on the tills,

who can advise you on the morning after

Treat your bunion while buying an onion,

or men browsing the cucumbers and sprouts,

there’s a special blue pill next to the dill,

if your performance is causing some doubts.

Surprise your dear wife with this bag for life,

not just groceries sating her hunger,

apparently there, they’ll cure your lost hair,

return from shopping, twenty years younger.

Morbidly obese are on the increase,

supermarket ads pushing food and drinks,

having got you fat, they’ll charge to cure that

two crafty bites of the cherry me thinks!