At The Gettysburg Cancer Center Poem by Anne Higgins

Here is the club you never want to join.
Brigade which recruits you on the side
of the invaded
in a Civil War battle.

To enlist,
admit that you are bleeding,
or that you are dizzy,
or that you feel a lump.

The barracks
smells like coffee,
offers fruit and graham crackers.
Soon you won't want to eat
any of them.

Door number one: Chemo-
big easy chairs arranged
around a sunny room with high ceilings
cozy as a hair salon
where the hair evaporates
from most heads.
Door number two: Radiation-
more Star Trek than Cemetery Ridge.
The uniformed sailors leave you alone,
retreat behind leaden walls,
while the hammerhead cannon
grinds and rotates
around every side of you.

Feeling slippery with fatigue,
you leave for another evening
of diarrhea.
Recurring depression
delusions, dehydration
accompany you home.

After six weeks, leave the clubhouse
and almost forget
what membership cost.
You wonder about the other veterans - are they
melting, wild cells galloping away with them?
Are they, like you, returning home
scarred, but breathing victory?