This poem has cancer.
A lump of letters in a swollen stanza
and here we are: our monthly visit
to the poetry clinic,
flushing out the enemy
with a double dose of rhymotherapy.
The course is intensive.
Specialist care isn’t near;
it takes a full toner cartridge to get here
and we have to stay for weeks, sometimes.
It’s then I wish that I could find
the money for some special treat.
Glossy paper is not cheap.
More time is spent away than home;
so there’s no work on other poems,
no other income coming in.
Pockets and patience wear thin.
We cannot afford
to be unsupported.
And every poem
needs its poet.
You should know this.
September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Find out more about the Cancer Costs campaign here: http://www.clicsargent.org.uk/