Cancer Treatment
The other evening
After a week off…
You came round
And we fed you curry.
When Morag opened the window
Flakes of your skin
Were adrift
Across the wind-woken candles
Which stuttering
Threatened to -
But held their line.

The morning after
Bits of desiccated Bill
Littered the carpet
And still made Winter
Wonderlands on the coffee table.
I vacuumed
Thinking Dyson seemed a cruel pun
But, frankly, too grossed out
To even contemplate rolling
Your snowman flakes
Into the empty tobacco pouch
You left behind
A comfort to find -
No call yet for keepsakes.
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