You'Re Not Taking My Blood Today. Poem by Rebecca Stansfield

Tomorrow is Wednesday,
and in the morning I'll be with the nurse again,
to talk about my problems,
and my lack of delicacy.
They'll jab the needle in my arm again,
and pretend that they get clear results,
but all that will be resulting is,
me throwing the same old insults.
The nurse is a sl*t anyway,
even if she talks as quiet as a mouse,
as timid as that one raindropp that comes from the gutter when you've just done your hair,
and you're supposed to think, at least it's not chucking it down,
but I'm different, and I'm not in the mood today,
so I'll tell around
and tell her,
you're not taking my blood today.