-Sorry Luís,
you have prostate cancer,
said Dr. David.

No wonder he had asked me
to sit down –
suddenly, the day after Christmas
I was no longer immortal.

-What a pain!
said my subconscious,
pun intended.

My mother died from it,
two brothers, uncle, aunt,
now it’s my turn,
time to meet the Great Rhymer
up in the sky,
but not before more tests,
probes, needles,
a clamp on my penis,
a tube up my anus,
big & small machines,
big & small nurses,
X-rays, magnetic imaging,
insurance forms,
doctors from
the League of Nations…

Hey, how about that!
the 38 radiation treatments worked!
A second chance!
I’ll have to wait a while
to meet Beethoven
and Jack Kerouac.

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