In honor of “breast cancer awareness” month
The wagons are circled,
Twenty-six chemo chairs.
We face the walls
And contemplate mortality.
Some are cheaper. The weekly treatments
Are only twenty-four-thousand.
Every chair in use, three shifts a day.
The nurse teaches us about pee.
Lower the lid before you flush —
Don’t contaminate your husband’s toothbrush.
Nevermind the frogs downstream,
Four legged cousins, your fishy friends.
You just sleep now. Sleep.
If I am very lucky, there will be an evening
Where the robins weave a web of calls,
And the fragrance of warmed petals lifts me off my feet.
I’ll hardly notice the frogs not croaking.