Not sugaring the pill

Not sugaring the pill 

No one nowadays of course is obfuscating

sugaring the pill

disguising a difficult truth, infantilising 

(I wonder about that change, was it gradual or overnight 

a radical departure, no more beating round the bush, are we all clear? ) 

So you’ll find yourself across a desk, receiving news, unwelcome, no punches pulled 

undodgable as a bullet, with illustrations- hand drawn to be helpful -

and even in a foreign tongue, with one of us hard of hearing 

translation’s obvious and though your man declares ‘no fire’

no urgent need for action

yet in a trice you’re strapped in and that conveyor belt is rumbling , at a pace, breath-taken 

while your brain scrambles to keep up 

and frankly I’m glad for the briskness and speed 

best have it out, cut it free 

the cancer, the tumour quietly growing 

tentacles creeping, enemy unseen 

Now in the aftermath, anaesthetic, keyhole cut

the neatest trick and miracle, staff meticulously trained

such skill and kindness, overwhelming 

I reflect, surprised, how all was relatively calm, no panic

though death it seemed came one step closer

breathed on my neck, while cancer chilled the air. 

I thought instead of love and all the life I’ve lived

the loveliness of legacy 

my line descending, branching, going forward, twenty-first century 

where the far horizon’s  shining 

as the sunrise lights the sky. 

11th November 2020, Hounoux.