Cancer, for Rob Ford


I simply appeared one day.

Aetiology: unknown.

Ontology, provenance: If God created the universe, who created God?

Using the fruit-standard, I began as an unripe cherry,

Then was swollen into a plum plumpkin,

A scarlet red apple, cerise dragonfruit: today, after being blasted twice

By fearsome poisons, I am an impervious, ruby-red melon,

Leeched against the pink-black wall of his stomach.

The way he clung, sweating, to the wall of the elevator as everyone

Shouted questions,

“I’m just a little tired,” he said.

A little?

The bigger I get, the sicker he feels.

“It’s hard to tell my kids,” he said: I don’t care.

He cries in the middle of the night as I eat his nutrients; his tissues, cells & platelets

He cries himself to sleep: I am an aggressive cancer;

I find risible the puny chemo that is kicking his ass so bad,

The photographs of him, bald and pale,

His sad bravura beneath my dreams

In which I am as big as him, but redder, and not farouche

In which I polish him off and enter someone else, seed-sized,

Someone odious or innocent: it makes no difference.

“Well he is a cancer to us,” I hear, to which I say

You’re welcome, and bow

Skinned into a matador and the roses are the red cells and the roses are the white cells and he is the bull,

Furious and frightened, the truth dawning

And his big, lashed head blooms with knowing

All he can do is charge and be gored, unless I falter

Unless the tears of children render me useless

Unless they leave him and me alone: by sighing, deeply,

We deflate.

  • david menear

    power full

    • lynncrosbie

      Thank you, much appreciated.

  • Luscious juicy writing, loved.. The fruit-standard… And… swollen into a plum plumpkin. Nice one!

    • lynncrosbie

      Thank you! Xo

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