New Zealand's demi-official poet laureate Victor Billot composes an ode for health minister Andrew Little
Little goes a long way
Dr Andy here. Surgeon and barber.
My open wallet surgery saves endless palaver.
I’ve done the visionary thing:
gone ape, gone troppo, I’m having a fling.
DHB managers are fairly buzzing.
I divided them by a baker’s dozen.
(Then I just multiplied it all by two,
for Tiriti related issues, it is true.)
If you are stuck down back of the queue,
with sore hips and gallstones making you blue,
I’m happy to say it’s (mostly) been fixed.
We’ve got it dusted down and (mostly) licked.
But there is one sticky point – almost a dot.
One little conundrum, one indelible spot.
The remaining problem is cash.
The numbers aren’t looking too flash.
We have to get money from somewhere
to fix up your tibia, fibula and cochleas.
But I’m not in charge of taxation.
That’s Jacinda and Grant, for your information.
Mention of “taxes” makes them go queasy.
Oh well. Halfway there.
No one said it was easy.
Victor Billot has previously been moved to write odes for such New Zealand luminaries as Mike Hosking, Christopher Luxon, and Garrick Tremain.
