To a young friend suffering from ...

On the wrist a watch
Coldly ticking,
ticking,
ticking as if there were no eternity.

Cancer here has been, like a black crow,
Inside her scavenging,
Pecking her life out of her.

In the house,
In a tin,
There's a cake,
Whole
Except for one slice.

The bed's not been made
And the shape of her sleep's still there,
That and Bruno, her old teddy bear.

There are cloths with signs of life in them
Hanging heavily, like longing;
Skirts,
Frocks,
Death.

A note to her husband:
Remember to pay all the bills,
Remember to be nice,
To all.

In the face of these things
And as they see her harrowed husband
People find that they are
Compelled to be kind.
And in the midst of all this trouble
A man find himself wondering
Whether life has cankered
Or,
Some way,
somehow,
Conquered...