The Wing

You don’t want to see

Anyone too young

In the cancer wing,

Since that would feel sad,

But you would at least

Hope to see someone

Who’s younger than you,

Or you’re the sad one,

Too sick and too young,

And somehow that feels

Like failure for you,

Like leaving the game

Of musical chairs,

Misspelling your word

At the spelling bee,

Or not being asked

To the next call-back—

You weren’t good enough,

You crapped out too soon,

You lacked the talent,

No knack for the game.

Wispy, silvery,

Elderly people

Wait all around you.

How many extra

Decades did they stay

Away from this place?

You imagine Death

With traditional

Hood, robes, and sickle,

Showing up for some

Of them, murmuring,

Well played, yes, well played.

You smile, but the nurse

Has come to get you

And take your vitals,

And it seems you might

Not be well enough

For treatment today.