Robin Bennett Poems
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 ...
Drawn into the flames of our hell-
The dirty moths just stare;
Disgust oozes, from gaping wounds
Where prying eyes once settled.
I'm burnt out on this whole mess-
Oxygen free lungs, pumped full of ash;
You were happy to keep fanning the flames,
Even the smoke alarms were mute with fright.