"The
Cancerboy Diaries: Entry the 4th"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
November 2nd, 4:40 a.m. pst
This morning, a year hence
from the last entry in this series
I was thinking of summing up the story, turning the last page
Eliminating the doubt from last year's diary doldrums
But then I remembered
The "bad news" received a few weeks ago
has not been finalized,
and so I was not prepared to write
until I knew, with you,
what to expect
from the rest of your life
A year has passed.
A year spent knowing that
Careless Cancer, in remission,
was silent, soothingly absent from reality
You stopped smoking and drinking again
This time for over three months
You wouldn't clean the ashtray in the sink however
and it sits, still there, filled with smoky water
I tell you I hate your inattention to cleanliness
even as I slip deeper under your influence
in our shared existence together
"The doctor said he was worried"
These were the words, which
keeping you on those pins and needles
of needless unbelieving wonder
you kept repeating to yourself
You missed your last appointment.
How can you even remember
all the meds and the doctors and
the pain and the unwary unknowing
The constant teetertottering of disdainful
implications
How can you stand it?
How indeed.
The news probably doesn't want to be heard.
I didn't write that entry,
and then I saw you sitting in your chair
whilst arriving home last night.
Drunk as usual,
Upset and arrogant
Irritatingly lovable but lachrymose
Home alone during the day
I figured you must have had another appointment
But I was preoccupied
And didn't want to hear your shit
Cause I have problems of my own.
Later of course you told me of the final problem
And my own problems disappeared without a trace.
The cancer is back.
No amount of pamphlets engineered to
"prolong survival"
can disguise the truth of the situation
No amount of pallid predictions
can serve to soothe the salacious statements
Simmering in your psyche
The cancer is back.
As these words are typed
into the processor
I have no idea if this is the next to last
entry in the Cancerboy Diaries.
Or if miracles do happen,
and the course of death can be detoured
if but for a moment
We laughed last night
(what can we do? cry?)
and talked of parachutes and hang gliders
and gambling trips to Vegas
and 2000 dollar hookers
We laughed last night
and now I think of you anon my friend
and turn the pages of the diary again
And write about inconclusive adjudicators of
Existence and happiness on this planet
I pray you have a good time while you can
And that the next entry in the diary
is a postive one
I can only pray, hope, and dream
But you have to live,
and die,
with this burden.
Poetry
2005
