– 57 –

The Cancer Cells Sum Up

I am startled by the blue beauty
of the cancer cell
it is bound only
by its neighbour's intimacy
integrating itself softly
like an exotic alien
into the unresisting tissues
of its owner

here, it insinuates
into the artey's intima
stretching its luxurious surface
along the endothelium
to reach the cut margin
where its compatriot
has already set sail
like a pirate
moving to claim territory
in the wider shores of the lungs

this elegant mosaic
each regular azure tile
annealed to its neighbour
is interrupted only
by the exuberance
of mitotic figures
announcing new divisions
heralding multiplication
adding up to extinction

– 58 –

Your Diagnosis is Leukaemia

the diagnosis of your disorder is leukaemia
the treatment of leukaemia is cytotoxic drugs
the drugs are dripped into veins
cytotoxics are fluids: red, clear or blue

the treatment of leukaemia is chemotherapy
if you had no treatment you would die
cytotoxics are fluids: red, clear or blue
untreated you might live up to three months

if you had no treatment you would die
chemotherapy may cure you
untreated you could live up to three months
chemotherapy may kill you

chemotherapy may cure you
cure lasts a lifetime
chemotherapy may kill you
cytotoxics will give you side effects

cure lasts a lifetime
the chances of cure are one in two
cytotoxics will give you side effects
the possibility of toxic death is one in ten

the chances of cure are one in two
do you want to have treatment?
the possibility of toxic death is one in ten
you have two days to decide

do you want to have treatment?
the drugs are dripped into veins
you have two days to decide
your diagnosis is leukaemia

– 59 –

Ending

Failure. I may have known
we would end like this. (If I
had hoped, I had hoped we
might fall softly)

here, the furious sorrow
lies, and the freesias of memory
risen through the warm earth
give of their offices
only the interruption of the air

there, beyond
the rude arrogance
of the rocks,
foam spits from the
malicious teeth of breakers

my body will leave this place
where the heart berates
its own contracting blackness
through reluctant blood

my spine is a waterfall,
a column of spume
held erect only by
its own agitation

there is no rest from
this watchfulness
and no lighthouse beckons