When I look back, I picture a multi-million pound
Formula One pit crew,
making snap decisions at break-neck speed,
but instead of shaving seconds off,
this team’s goal is to add precious time
onto precious lives—

underpaid NHS nurses
and midwives rush around the motionless bodies
of my wife and new-born child,
their engines barely ticking over,
me, an open-mouthed spectator,

but today there will be no final lap
or chequered flag, as light reappears
in my wife’s eyes, and our son’s first cries
fill the room. Our race goes on,
and just like that, our pit crew has gone,

leaving us to cheer upon our podium,
with rounds of buttery toast and hot cups of tea.