Back to Life
The slug under the stone oil slick glistening rainbows Seventeen years and then some Still it’s lurking Still it’s growing Still it’s here year on year.
But you too remain you get on the train weary once more trying treatments no more of the ins and outs the jargon or the details. Enough, you say. Just this: the train, the walk, pill or needle – look away - just whatever the doctors say then home and back to life.
We meet on another sunny day shops or park, the children play, Coffee, lunch: “My treat,” you say. “It will be my treat today.” We both know you say this every day.
There you are by the swings Tired but still standing Sore but still smiling Worn but never beaten Still giving, ever giving Enjoying living.
The slug under the stone is biding, waiting, Devour & swell & overrun it might it may But you stand firm and you pray It will not win, not any day
There may not be a remedy But death can have no victory You drive home with a cheery wave Confident in the empty grave.
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