White to blue

It's not love she wants on a night like this,
but the kettle on, a tidy house
quiet kids, or no kids.
Yes, no kids, clean house a G and T, and her shoes off.
She throws her feet up, slobbing,
eating, as if it was her last.
The meds, the NEWS scores, bing of buzzers,
chuck themselves round her head
like storm Gareth did in March.
She draws her concentration to a drama on ITV;
the one she’ll discuss with her mum and grandma in the morning,
but overwhelming feelings fill, the ones that say,
."did my actions count", "did I actually help",
and "what if I just walk away?"
park themselves right next to storm Gareth.
But what if she did walk away,
away from an NHS storm, involving life or death?
Got a 9-5, kissed Goodbye to whites with epaulettes.
Could she live with what she knows she couldn’t do?
One stripe,
two stripes,
three stripes.
Blue.

Poem contributed by Olivia Savoury.

Photo by John-Mark Smith on Unsplash