Grimebuster!

According to some newly-published report,
Our hospitals aren’t quite as clean as we thought.
While doctors and nurses are tirelessly working,
Behind them, bacterial colonies are lurking.
They’re growing on shelves that are dusty and grimy,
Infecting the water to make it taste slimy,
And now they are creeping with sure-footed tread
On the fortunate few who’ve been given a bed.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” says Doctor Patel,
“I’m sure that your transplant will go really well.
This oil on my hands? Oh, there’s no need to worry,
I managed to fix my flat tyre in a hurry.
You’re right, I’ve no tissues, as you rightly perceive,
And hence the damp patch on the cuff of my sleeve.
Please don’t be alarmed, there is no need to shout,
You know there is nothing to worry about.”

All through the wards, great diseases are spreading.
They’re leaping with joy from the light bulbs to bedding.
A dung-beetle family is putting down roots,
Whilst an army of termites appeals for recruits.
Through grime-coated theatres, the insects are breezing,
And even the dust-mites are helplessly sneezing.
And if patients complain when the bedbugs appear,
They get sent away with a flea in their ear.

But wait! Who is this with a mop in her hand?
The scourge of all pestilence throughout the land!
It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Oh my God, it’s the Minister,
Brandishing stainless steel buckets so sinister
Bold Mary will banish those festering gripes,
Armed with Domestos and surgical wipes.
With Brillos galore and considerable tact,
She’ll get the poor sisters to clean up their act.

The patients are bound to be keenly impressed
By this matronly figure with ‘S’ on her chest,
For though all the dirt is ingrained and quite old,
She won’t sleep a wink till she’s broken the mould.
Down on her knees with her carbolic soap,
In hard to reach corners, she’ll steadfastly grope,
And soon the hygienists will not need to blubber,
For Mary will show she’s one hell of a scrubber.