Sacrifice Poem (who is at work?)

When I twisted my ankle
During the permitted morning run
On Westminster Bridge
(the sound of the tide rushing out with no boats)
I delicately walked past
The hospital where the prime minister
(don’t say dying).

Police at the gates
Panic on the faces of people rushing in
ID cards held aloft, to face the day.

In front, a rainbow floral display
Perpetual plastic flowers
Reads I [heart] NHS

A worker gives it a glance, rushing.
Does she think, like me
That this effusion seems too close
To a funeral display?

Behind, three ambulances
Are lined up
In the emergency bay.

Across the road, a dozen cameras
A dozen operators
Anchors in suits
Producers on the phone

Later their broadcasts speak
Of war and “fighting spirits”
Of bravery and sacrifice.

Down below, in the playground
Of the hospital daycare
A woman runs with a stroller
Mask on her face
Through the doors
With the child
On her way to work.

Who battles:
Who sacrifices?