top of page

The Health Of The Day


It started with a lump at dawn.

By the time the sun goes down she'll be gone.

By happy hour she'll have lost all her hair.

Darkness will metastasize

And burn the blueness from her eyes.

Twilight's a home of palliative care.


I'll drink. I won't nurse.

I'll smile. I won't curse.

And raise a glass to the health of the day.

I won't grieve. I'll toast.

This eulogy's a roast.

Today has cancer. It always goes away.


By dinner time the radiation's through

The sky's a bruised and mourning hue.

The chemicals have nowhere to flow

There's the moon to pronounce her dead.

I pull the plug and I kiss her head.

And chase my grief with a pint or so.

We all know she's born to die

Watch her fledging. Watch her fly.

And listen to the songs that she sings.

Melodies of younger skies,

my memories will all fossilize

as she kisses the ground on broken wings

The stars are pickled to my eye

the earth is drunk. The moon is high.

Obituaries fall into line.

Love be praised and I'll be damned.

She never, ever self-examed.

The prognosis is for wine.

© Audsongs 2014

bottom of page