Delusion

Marshmallow Santas are my heart’s desire.
Christmas music makes a lie out of disappointment.
We cheat cancer like a con man, shaking hands
with the enemy when he's cut down with lasers.
It's too late to get a foothold on slippery
slopes too steep, too deep, and complicated,
like health,  mortality or faith, and who
He is. Delusion is a grifter taking up room
and board in this slop house of a greasy spoon.
This health guru cooks fried chicken and bakes
cheesecake, promises to get a grip before he kills
us all. He’s unaware of deceptive practices.
He only wants us to be happy and we love him for it.

Kind Healer

The doctor’s hand touches

my husband’s arm, my hand

as he tells us its cancer, quickly

tells us the way we will do

battle, irradiate the enemy,

keep close eye on rebirth.

He’ll slice away every cell of tumors,

then singe in  the fires of a laser. 

We - keep our appointments,

pray, and don’t give up hope. 

A Day to Forget

Eleven, Eleven, Eleven

at eleven:eleven a.m.

A day I won’t repeat

in my lifetime.

Only look back on,

remember where I was.

I was beside my husband

while he slept, checking

for fever or any change,

wondering if I’d notice

something important,

something that went awry.

This day has become

a day I want to forget.

The day after his surgery.

The day we heard cancer

applied to our life.

The Stage

Cancer or not?

It's cancer.

We are in the club,

I hope the name

is Cancer Survivors.

Tomorrow, surgery,

then what? Find out

what stage? Stage sounds.

like a performance.

I need to be on that stage

brave and true for him.

Where do I get that kind

of strength ?  From no

where I've been before.

He because he has it,

me because I love him.

His Point of View

Following is my poem for PAD that is from another person's view point.  I chose my husband's thoughts while we waited for him to be wheeled off for surgery.  I know these were his thoughts because he expressed them to me.

Today is my birthday.

I had plans for celebration

but instead I lay in this hospital bed
hooked up to beeping machines.
I place my hand over my wife’s
As she stands by my bed.

She stands on that side of the rail

and I’m lying here, she can’t understand. 
This really is a journey each of us takes alone.

I am afraid but I’m a man. I can’t show it,

can’t be the one to crumble under the weight
of the C word and worry what they will cut out.

The anesthecist gives me a shot of courage. I guess

I didn’t carry off the brave act well enough.  We
are going, moving to the operating room.  I love you
Honey.  Did I tell her everything I wanted to?

That she is the best thing that ever happened to me
and if I died today, it would be OK because it’s been
better than I ever dreamed.  Not to worry about me.
That I’ll be with my son if I am not here with her. 

Yes, I know I did.  Nothing left to say, so I’ll sing.

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to..

Black or White

Tell me my husband is OK.
I don’t understand all this doc talk
Say yes, he has cancer, or no.

The vagaries of the disease

I’ll learn when I can comprehend

Does he or doesn’t he?