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This job is making me ill – a poem



I’m struggling under the mental strain,

There’s no time to relax my overworked brain,

I have no more resources to drain,

This job is making me ill.

 

The relentless demands are so unfair,

They seem to come from everywhere ,

I have so little time for patient care,

This job is making me ill.

 

If I have to hear the phrase once more,

’Doctor, I need a letter for…’

I think I’ll head straight for the door,

This job is making me ill.

 

I have to listen to negative press,

About how my profession is in such a mess,

How much more I can take, I can only guess,

This job is making me ill.

 

Every day at work can feel like a fight,

My family has noticed that I’m not right,

I’m exhausted and grumpy every night,

This job is making me ill.

 

So what does the future hold?

Will I still do this job when I am old?

Will I just keep doing what I’m told?

Until this job does make me ill.