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"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Adele Evershed

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Waiting for Death

The morning I think I'm dying / the sky is a layer of chalk / like a cure for acid
reflux / and a maw of possibilities / pound in my pulse/ my ghosts are always with
me / and after the blood letting they lean in / their list of ills / as long and as hard to
say / as that famous Welsh village / drummed into my backstory

After Googling my results / I know enough to make up a story / with no clear
ending/ cancer like my mother/ a stroke like my father / but not old age like my
Nana /she lived to be ninety-nine / they weigh me / they always weigh you / even if
you're there for an ear lavage / and I think it doesn't matter now / all that cake I
went without / all those long boring walks

And when the doctor walks in / she asks if I'm there / because my test results /
show I have high cholesterol / I shake myself like salad dressing / and feel all my
layers emulsify / I tell her I thought I was dying / that one of the results could mean
/ bladder cancer / or she says / more probably a UTI / then she tuts and says / stay
away from Google / and puts me on statins / like everyone else I know

The afternoon I know I'm not dying / the sky is as white as ice cream / like a cure
for a broken heart / and a maw of possibilities / pound in my pulse