Malignant Mother-In-Law Poem by the hungrypoet.co.uk

You smile and say “My dear you’re looking well”
The view must be improved from your position
The fight’s not over ‘til the final bell.

You finger secret scabs but I won’t tell
You scratch at details, driven by suspicion
You smile and say “My dear you’re looking well”.

Although the forecast’s bleak inside my cell
For future ruminations and ambition,
The fight’s not over ‘til the final bell.

As sickness fought with sickness, beauty fell
My hair slid from my head without permission
You smile and say “My dear you’re looking well”.

At last I could not hide my spreading hell
With glee you caught the gist of my admission.
The fight’s not over ‘til the final bell.

I flounder, half-submerged within the swell
Of other people’s hope against attrition.
You smile and say “My dear you’re looking well,
The fight’s not over til the final bell.”