There was something defiant in your delivery: <br />‘I’ve got a huge bloody carcinoma <br />of the stomach - <br />Inoperable they tell me.’ <br /> <br />But there was relief too – <br />I know how much you dreaded <br />being left… <br /> <br />‘Take care of your mother, for me. <br />Promise? ’ <br /> <br />I didn’t cry. <br />I didn’t need to. <br />I just held your hand <br />and looked gravely into your green eyes. <br /> <br />I remember noticing <br />your moustache - <br />every defiant ginger hair of it. <br /> <br />‘He loves that moustache’ - <br />Mum used to say. <br /> <br />It disappeared soon after - <br />along with the rest of your hair <br />and the hale and hearty <br />proportions <br />of your Henry the Eighth body. <br /> <br />Chemotherapy does that. <br /> <br />You were ridiculously small <br />when you finally died.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/defiance-4/
