another cancer poem

by David LaBounty

forty-nine and
not too different
from as he
stands at
my counter
and tells me about

the small cell
tumors breathing
in his lungs and
the co-pays and

deductibles and
how there
are therapies
and pills and
he finally
has it all
figured out
twenty grand
in the hole
later, how

no doctor
or drug company
really wants
him or anyone
else to ever get
better, they
just want to
string you along

keep you

popping pills
and
taking treatments

while you pay
out your ass

just to stay alive.