Radiation Days
Belly down on the hot seat, I can feel the liquid Styrofoam
Shape itself around me as both armor and target.
What I can’t feel is the bull’s-eye BB delicately placed
Dead center on the wrinkled sphincter, as the tattooist
Inks five blue beads around my pelvis, mapping
A constellation that begs to be dubbed Anus Major.
The three chemo pills
There on the kitchen counter—
Hard fates to swallow.
My nurses, Kamal and Caesar, behaveLike courtiers to the late QM,Steadying me by the elbows on the stepladder,Discreetly hiking up my gown, guidingMy knees as if onto a pew where a kind soulHas ballpointed X’s on the sheet for my knees.Now I am aligned with the routine, and lowerMy face into the rubber crown of officeAs if in shame for what I have doneTo deserve such fear, such care.
