Poetry: Nuts

 ONEANNA65—you have inspired me.

Her blog “CancerKillingRecipe”,  is about her courageous bout with cancer, and tips for healthy/fulfilling lifestyle . This prompted me to share my personal experience with the disease. I am not going to share the entire story,  that may come in time, but for now a poem will do just fine.

I must warn you that some might find it offensive, crude, and tongue in cheek. I am playing on several layers of allegorical, elusory, and visual imagery to make my point. The crudeness is merely the reality that when faced with disease, modesty has no medicinal value. The only objective is to rid yourself of the murderous cells by any means necessary. If that means lying exposed to the world, then lying exposed to the world it is.

The poem is meant to be light-hearted but dead serious, to make you laugh and think, and for me to express my mental anguish and exhausted elation of coming to the understanding that something inside my body was trying to kill me..but I pre-emptively ordered the fatal attack. I was not going to wait around and let it use my body and organs as host or food source, like “Alien”. There was no time to wait for secondary diagnosis, or natural healing methods. Emotional attachments to parts of your body will not bring healing, but extracting it might. So, I went out of my way to kill a part of me before it returned the favor and killed me entirely. 

If the poem offends you, I apologize, but in formality only; the next time surgeons open you up and remove your organs, maybe you can write a more eloquent/holy version of the experience. [wink]____________________________________________________________________________________________

In December 1944, General McAuliffe was acting Commander of the 101st Airborne Division and other attached troops during the siege of Bastogne, Belgium. When the division became surrounded and the Germans demanded their surrender, he sent back a one-word reply “NUTS”, probably the most famous quote of World War II.

 

 

Nuts. 

Huddled together

Swollen and sweaty

Wide-eyes horrified…of the thought of loss

Prognosis is death

Without surrender

General McAuliffe refuses to yield

“…right then.”

So I shot the bastard

To save what’s left

 

 

[written 12-06-2006- 1 month after my surgery]

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