How I remember the waiting room,
at my Daddy's oncologist's office-
If being eaten alive by cancer isn't enough-
The waiting room is full of old boring, dated
magazines in stages of disarray.
It smells like chemicals and fear,
and it looks deadly real.
Ugly pictures of a fisherman caught
in a raging nor' easter. Truly not a
well thought out metaphor, if I do
say so myself. The anti-cancer drugs
make the pale and weak thirsty,
not a water cooler in sight.
Daddy, how can you trust this
man with your life?
He's a supreme failure in keeping
his waiting room off life support.
You could easily give up
and die in this office.
It sucks the dim light from
your cancer ridden
bones, while you read
about Brad and Jen's
divorce from what
is now your past life.
The one before cancer.
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Comments about this poem (Cancer by Robin Bennett )
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