I pass the turn off to the the primary schools I went to,
Where I first tasted blood
And had my defamed body
Beaten by children
Who refused to understand
And I want to turn in,
Park,
Not go on.

I pass the public library
I languished long hours in,
Studying the things
I could not afford
And would not be afforded to me.
Where I met my first adult friend,
A fifty year old man
Who checked out restricted titles for me
On his own card
And I wanted to turn in,
Park,
And not go on.

I pass the home of a dear friend,
Two dear friends,
Three dear friends
Who brought me comfort with
Their words and their bodies
When the latter failed.
I still crave the simplicity
Of agony
That could be banished with
A well-timed kiss.
As if Joy Division would
Always be on the radio
In the background.
As if tea
Made up for
A youth spent on the edges
Of worlds I would have
Given everything to be
Fully included in.
I wanted to turn in,
Park,
And not go on
But those houses are void.

I park
Outside of my father's house.
I stare it down
As if the front lawn is no man's land.
Inside:
The cancer is back.
The college is paid.
The world has moved on
Within me, without me.

The greatest comfort,
An even greater shame.
Guilt that was never mine
Shackled to my joints,
Wearing thin in the places
Once impenetrable.

Maligned.
Malformed.
Maimed.

The cancer is back.
The cancer is back.
The cancer is back.
The cancer is back.
The cancer is back.