Visiting you, weeks into your illness, <br />I almost passed your bed <br />so unlike yourself you had become. <br />You saw me, but propriety <br />decreed that you ignore <br />my appalled gaze. <br />I saw the old smile creak. <br />I said <br />that I was daydreaming in the Cancer Ward. <br /> <br />Chemo-ed and probed enough <br />you had them move you back <br />to lie amongst different strangers. <br />All believed, or wanted to, <br />that they were gaining <br />on their corruptions <br />but they cried at night; <br />a dread sound of stripped hope, <br />you called it, precisely. <br />This functional care is adequate, you said, <br />it makes the staff feel better. <br /> <br />I avoided you one day, because you talk so much- <br />or maybe I can't listen. <br />And I was in a hurry to..to.. <br />You know I cannot remember <br />what I had to do that sunny day. <br />Or was it cloudy? I do not remember. <br /> <br />The tumour grows in your throat, <br />your voice a cracked whisper <br />in sullied air. <br />I fidget in the too-brown room <br />amidst bright, bright blooms <br />dying slow in ugly vases.<br /><br />James Mills<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/therapy/
