An Unexpected Turn of Events Midway through Chemotherapy
I’d like some sex please.
I’m not too picky—
(after all, have you seen me?
so skinny you could
shiv me with me?)
Philosexical, soft and
Gentle, a real
Straight fucking, rhymed
Or metrical—whatever
You’ve got, I’ll take it.
Just so long as we’re naked.
Scheduling the Bone Scan
The word “bone” tolls in your ear,
a bell. What tolls? The word, the bone?
The drum in your ear moves the hammer
like a lever, a bone moves
the word “bone” through your ear.
You repeat “bone,” your voice droning—
not silver: bronze. A duller thud.
Nothing ringing—instead, a buzz—
the devouring sound—the insect, time.
After the Mastectomy
At the oncologist’s office, a man stares. I stare back
until he says, “People must stare at you.”
Why bother closing a door
when everyone demands it open?
I go to the world with my tongue out
and my shirt unbuttoned, my keys
in the lock,
a six-inch scar instead of a nipple—
how can a watchtower hide?
I am well-positioned to seek out
fires and invading hoards—
my bald head the beacon the first
alarm.
***
Author photo courtesy of author
