Cabin C.

We did not choose
this voyage.
No one ever does.
Sunlit brochures sit
in dusty stacks
'neath a window
by the agent's door.
"Cruise of a Lifetime"
the cover says,
destination blank.
Nobody dares
pick one up.

There is no line
at the ticket booth
on the end of the pier.
The clerk plays
solitaire all day,
every day.
Nobody pushes
through the turnstile.
Yet every hour
another ship
filled to capacity
leaves the dock.

We left in the spring.
Been shipbound
one year now.
Correction -
you've been
shipbound.
I'm free to take
shore leave
whenever I choose.
But I choose
to stay aboard,
to sleep in your cabin.

No - we did not
pick this voyage.
But we're on
a sound ship.
Captain Blau is as fit
as any on the sea.
Her crew well trained,
well equipped.
From the surgeon's
quarters, to the labs
and imaging facilities,
everything is top-notch.

On Wednesdays
we sit out on the
chemotherapy deck
with other passengers,
encouraging and
supporting one another.
Every night we stand
at the rail, and look
to the horizon.
We make the best of it,
because there is
no other choice.

Saturday night
we went on a date.
You looked in the
mirror as you did
your makeup,
and you laughed
when many women
would have cried.
"I have four eyelashes!"
you said.
"What am I supposed to do
with four eyelashes?"

Then we went topside -
celebrated my birthday -
had a pint of stout
in Blackbeard's Tap Room.
Soon we'll celebrate
your birthday.
This summer we'll return
to the pier.
We will disembark
this ship.
We will drop,
and kiss the ground.

R.L. Johnson, 4/10/2018

Chemotherapy

3 of 3 poems from

Her Cancer Journey