Geoff Cochrane
Chemotherapy
A marquee stocked with gleaming cheerios.
Children and a friendly, broad-backed dog
(table to the kids’ unmannerly elbows).
The tall man with the little paunch is ill,
but we’re here on this blustery coast
to celebrate his fifty-fifth birthday.
The wind-minced sea has darkened.
It’s time for the cake with the single candle,
but the northerly has strengthened
and the candle can’t be lit;
taking the cake from his daughter’s hands,
Nigel pretends to blow
the unlit candle out.
His wobbly gait is not yet a totter.
He’s touched and grateful, but also very tired.
The wind-minced sea has darkened to purple.
