*having A Sense Of Tumor Poem by Ted Sheridan

Today I had a short but very serious
conversation with the tumor
on the back of my head. Now the size of a nectarine,
it has developed a mind of its own. It demands
clean pillow cases and more of my attention
than I care to offer. It oozes the thick tears
of a yellow death as it pleads with me to take its life.
It demands heavier medication; I withhold it.
I know the rules. Pain is all relative.
Relief comes in a pill.
The blues ones make you crazy.
The yellow ones are for emergencies.
The red, take those and you’re dead.
The tumor on my head begs me for those red ones….


2009 © TS