The walls, ceiling and floors are covered with medical descriptions of the physical effects of
chemotherapy.
The poem is printed on a clear plexiglas inner wall that fronts images of bald heads and describes
the experience of receiving chemotherapy treatment.
Chemo (Excerpted)
I lie in the brown Naugahyde recliner
in a line with six or seven others
like someone with a steerage class ticket
or in love with the elements.
Facing a floor to ceiling window where
we can see what comes or goes
It is strange to be wearing street clothes
for this.
Has longing and its wild procreations
done this, unleashed rogue
profligate cells?
Have I wanted too much,
thought the stranger at the door
an angel of God, entertained
him unaware?
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