Bum crack at the (Albury) Base

When sickness takes a hold of you and health is not the best.

The hospital can be the spot to help get well and rest.

But sterile walls can get you down – a dreary sort of place.

Without some bugger strolling round with bum crack at the Base.

The nightgown’s complimentary see, the day that you arrive.

(In facts it’s all you have to wear, as long you survive).

But underpants, or boxer shorts beneath would show some grace.

And stop the codger walking ‘round with bum crack at the Base.

The dinner trolley rolls around – with sandwiches and stew.

Although the medication’s knocked the appetite from you.

A spoonful here, a nibble there, you start to get the taste.

Until your hunger’s gutted by that bum crack at the Base.

When visitors and family gather with you at the bed.

You try to warn them as he shuffles, not to turn their head.

But eyes of curiosity turn briefly to that space.

And burned on to their retinas is bum crack at the Base.

Long days stuck beneath the sheets, you miss the summer breeze.

Struggle out of bed to watch the wind blow through the trees.

Of course he’s had the same idea and all you’re left to face.

A draught from down the hall reveals that bum crack at the Base.

Things are getting desperate now, it’s everywhere you look.

Is it cancer or those cheeks that leave you feeling crook?

Surely there’s some satin here, some cotton, or some lace.

Anything at all to hide the bum crack at the Base.

Perhaps you should be grateful though, you’re only seeing crack.

We’re really all quite lucky that the gowns tie up at back.

A gown that tied up from the front would be a worse disgrace.

An old man’s willy winking, ‘stead of bum crack at the Base.