Another Immortal Cancer Poem
I forget the exact day
but let's say it's been about a year
and me with an expiration date
of a fairly-well written situation-comedy.
I'd like to say it's been a precious year
and I did have three months of remission
until it hit the bones.
But there was some chemo in there
and some fatigue
and all the usual crap that goes with.
So precious isn't the word.
There is no word.
It's stupid to try to think of one.
So what am I doing this year?
Waiting for the medical marijuana?
Somehow they'll take all the fun out of that too.
I just know it.
I could put on my Eeyore
and complain about everything else…
At this point griping is like deciding to cheat on your taxes
or asking doc for more pain pills
when the bottle isn't empty yet
or taking a little break with the treatments
when nobody is looking.
It feels good when it's happening
and then there's fright when it's done.
There are other options ahead.
Consider… this poem could go on a while
or I might wrap it up right quick.
That's the thing.