The harsh light shines on the luminaries in the ring

Fighting, arguing about you

“Echo it, no don’t!”

“Close it”

“Close it always”

“Close it sometimes”

“(Almost) Never close it”

Waving RCTs – their clever acronyms

Easier to remember than the trial design

Medications wrestling one another

The king, indomethacin now exiled,

Dethroned by ibuprofen, paracetamol

And the shiny new toys

Devices to plug, close, seal you off

They may avoid cutting open a tiny chest

But are they really needed?

Ringside are the clinicians (there I am!)

Our faces swinging with each new twist

As if watching Serena and Venus

In the back of the room, in the dark seats, are the parents

When the winner is declared (2030? 2040? Later?)

And the answers are known

And Rocky is handed the championship belt

We can turn on all the lights for the parents