It starts with a call,
A call from his mother.
Sophia says Come quick, MacGyver s been hurt.
He was just on his way home from saving the world again.
He got jumped by some kids.
He went down now he s dying.
So I threw on my coat and ran out the door.
Sped through the night to the old
hospital
Where the doctors said to wait so i camped in the ward.
Watching the clock as it haemorrhages time so slow.
And I ve lingered here so long.
The air in here so cold.
The shallow breath so quiet.
The shibboleth of MacGyver laid bare,
Flat on a table,
Blackened by bruises he couldn t explain.
And there was nothing he could build to save himself out of biros and blue-tack.

They opened up his cavities in the operating theatre,
But the doctors couldn t find a heart.
His lymph glands running motor oil.
His calloused fingers lie inert
Their intricate ability punctured by the god-shaped hole in adolescent consciousness.
He couldn t build a bomb to mend the splinters of his broken heart.
His home-made radar couldn t find a way to make his weapons art.
MacGyver bleeds out all of his rationalism.
Isaac Newton, your lever is not long enough.
The Scottish enlightenment a sinking ship.
So I left the hospital with the bleep of life support machines a memory.