On You Being Diagnosed Poem by cahen thrips

when we were smokers
before going out
we'd pat our pockets
to feel that comfort
of knowing we've remembered
our cigarettes

a certain bulge
giving us confidence
to face the day though
if we've forgotten them
say left an opened packet on
the dining room table

we'd panic
and our day would be spoiled

you are my packet of twenty
i pat my side
to feel you calm beside me
sitting up or stretched out
as if a summer's evening
after a breathless hour

my gold flake my nicotine shot
distraction and pacifier
without your vital presence
my fears will overbear
my resolve will wilt
and I will be but spent ash

I panic
that my life will be spoiled

now that's what I call bitter irony

September 2022