cancer poems

The plane took off. I sat in the tail and the turbulence was like a teenager trashing his bedroom in a temper.

They lined up for the toilet, I know it’s pointless to be scared of flying, it’s pointless to be scared of dying.

The old man

Old George is dying, but no one should have to die by themselves

so take the angels down from the shelf

A Monday morning hot chocolate, this heart is a clock.