A bird likes singing Poem by Tonnus Oosterhoff

A bird likes singing. R. likes singing. He wakes up with a sore throat and spends ages saying
to whoever wants to hear it (but there is no-one at home): ‘So it turned out he had
throat cancer! Throat cancer after all! O yes, throat cancer! So young and throat cancer.
You've got to give it to him. Throat cancer. Turned out to be throat cancer. Best for it,
that it was throat cancer. Still, throat cancer. Did you say throat cancer? That he would
be the first to go - never have guessed it. No. Who would have? Never smoked or
nothing. Oesophagus, no, throat cancer. O what a shock. O what a terrible shock also
for his surroundings. Also for his parents. They're gutted. Understandably. He could
sing so beautifully. A strange voice. But nice. Now it's too late you can understand the
strangeness of it much better. Throat cancer, imagine? Throat cancer! All that time it
was throat cancer! But soldiering on at work. Always tired, but why? Now I
understand. There, on his breast bone, that throat cancer had already taken hold. Did
you say throat cancer? Yes, I did! Throat cancer!'
And so on. As a bird. In full morning song.