this doctor, this surgeon
and left me on the table
to wipe the sweat from
his brow. He wasn't able to

remove the tumor now. He jumped
at the size. Rumor is his body
paralyzed. His legs Jello, far from
the mellow man walking in dockers,

sporting a tan. His hands trembling
as the ground in an earthquake,
far from the bloke kayaking
on Swan Lake. And I bled out red,

a trout prepped for the meal,
with a sprig of thyme and
a slice of lemon in her mouth
left on a table of steel.