Where the Sickest Need to go

A poem about the disaster of rural care

Somewhere in the mountains a car will crash tonight.

But there won’t be an ambulance with brightly flashing lights.

A person lying dying will not leave the scene for care.

Later flowers and crosses will record what happened there.

At home out on the open plains his chest will start to squeeze.

His coronaries closing from his awful heart disease.

There may not be a doctor near to give life saving aid;

She knows the truth, so on they drive, both terribly afraid.

While once it was a hospital, an empty building’s there,

A woman stabbed and nearly dead is brought by friends for care;

A sign says that it’s gone for good, so sorry and good luck;

They speed away to find some help; she bleeds out in the truck.

Young mother didn’t know the signs, but now contractions grow;

Her aunt comes by and understands so off to town they go.

The baby’s breech, young woman weak, no specialist to meet;

They’ve no more L and D because it costs too much to treat.

The coughing started days ago, the gasping just tonight,

The child needs special treatment but it hangs upon the flight.

The ICU is hours away if he is sent by ground.

The weather’s bad so there’s no helicopter to be found.

Tonight a family will lose a person who could live,

Tomorrow rural staff will wish they had much more to give,

There’s talk of inequality on every front we know,

But not regarding places where the sickest need to go.