What Doesn’t Kill You… by Cathy Walmsley

He’s gone, they’ve taken him away, weaving through Taranaki Street the siren’s fading.
Today it’s Stan at the wheel and that cheerful lass that gets his cannula straight in.
The chemo’s ravaged his young body but he’s chatting her up like it’s a night club.
Can see the flashing lights as they round the Basin Reserve. Hold my breath as they run a red light… they’re through.
Closing the front door on his mouldy flat to a life long gone, tennis trophies, a push bike, remnants from when he was intact.
By now the drip will be pumping as they fly up Adelaide Road… and we get ready for another round.

 

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