Robin Bennett Poems
How I remember the waiting room,
at my Daddy's oncologist's office-
If being eaten alive by cancer isn't enough-
The waiting room is full of old boring, dated
magazines in stages of disarray.
It smells like chemicals and fear,
and it looks deadly real.
Ugly pictures of a fisherman caught
in a raging nor' easter. Truly not a
well thought out metaphor, if I do
say so myself. The anti-cancer drugs
make the pale and weak thirsty,
not a water cooler in sight.
Daddy, how can you trust this
man with your life?
He's a supreme failure in ...
Standing together all tippy toed,
In a grey goose soaked way, my-
birthstone hued gown slit,
all the way up to there.
I can touch buttermilk clouds,
and defy gravity in your arms.
Galaxy floating, we make music,
In the red light, of a Mars glow.