She sweeps the floors.
The dust and heat are far behind her.
She empties the bins,
Making her life full again.
She empties the catheters,
While the nurses take the piss.
She works in silence,
Surrounded by gunfire.
She works alone,
Free from the cramped conditions in the camps.
She was placed on a rough estate.
Bricks and mortar were a welcome relief after a ripped tent.
I have recently been to visit a friend who is an utter inspiration. I have written a few pieces about her. This is the start of a poem I have written about my friend and the racism she faces daily in her work in English hospitals. She is far more qualified than her colleagues.