Surgery.

Tomorrow my wife

Goes under the knife again

Well used to wielding it

In a world of men

Now she relies on them

To complete her femininity

The irony is not lost on her

Nor is the spectre of cancer

It has drifted into our lives

Like a distant relative

Over staying its welcome

I will mollify our child

Well trained in bedside manner

Perhaps more so than most doctors

They will poke and prod her

Consider the volume of her drains

I will tend and mend

Bring her toothpaste, magazines

Her chest a battleground

For forces microscopic, unseen
All of us willing her
Through the strength of our love
To make the world a better place
As it is below, so it is above

© shaun patrick green 2015