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He deals with his cancer just like he dealt
with that stupid war back in the Nam; he curses himself
for all those unfiltered cigarettes he smoked in between
lighting up the jungle with tracers so he could see to shoot
another pair of black pajamas in the rice paddy below
who was still aiming a loaded weapon at him and his buddy’s head…
Read my lips Charlie…you’re dead.
He deals with his cancer just like he dealt
with that cheating dumb bitch of a first wife; he knew
how she had mourned deeply over the death of Elvis and not
for the death of his love or his active sex drive after he’d
caught her in bed with that eight inch chocolate vibrator
which had come complete with another man’s body attached.
He deals with his cancer just like he dealt
with his kids; promising not to nurture growing young sociopaths
with new toys and fancy cars but rather to deny them like he had been
by a father who made him work for every dime he ever had.
Tough love from a tough man….
He deals with his cancer just like he dealt with everything in life;
knowing that God loves him and he had brought him down
to a level, where even he could be broken…and then reborn…
Crying salted tears, he leaves a note…telling Cancer to kiss his ass…
2008 ©
Ted Sheridan
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