Fast Cancer

In a lab somewhere downtown
Trained eyes peer through a microscope
Curled fingers type a report
Ominous words slide under my door.

Shock grabs the moment
Disbelief interrogates my past
Uncertainty clouds my future.

Tiny terrorists steal my own blueprint
Use my nourishment and transport
And lock on to corrupt my body.

While neighbors fret taxes, lawn, weather
And strive for a better cappuccino
I do needles, cold metal surfaces, and gigantic futuristic machines
Then I wait in the doomsday room.

Favorable results come quickly; a day or two
Unfavorable results take longer; a week or two
Ultimate results; six months, one, two, five years.

Rapid pulse . . . amor? tennis?
No. My heart is nourishing the tumor
Elevated fever . . . the flu? amor?
No. My body is trying to burn out a new activity.

Acquaintances quickly forego clichés, advice, and anecdotes
Precious moments and hours are spent with treasured friends and family
Thoughtful notes slide under my door
If there were only a silver bullet.

Bill Velte

July, 2004

Written a week or so before his death.

Poems of Loss

Spiritual Poetry

Spirituality - Quotes and Insights

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