My little Christmas cactus is growing A lovely slime mold And my dads cancer is spreading From his esophagus to his lung I guess that’s the way of life To grow But the slime mold will coexist And make the Christmas cactus happy The cancer won’t coexist Won’t make his body happy It will eat up the life He forfeits And he still won’t call his grandson Who so badly wants to hear from him His grandson, a 19 year old, fully formed, passionate gift from the universe In his late age And he won’t call him It’s prolonged and prolonged It goes on and on The breaks from treatment Only make the cancer worse And make the treatment worse the next time around He refuses to stretch and get a massage Refuses to let his muscles Be coaxed into relaxation But who can blame him Everything ***** His body has turned on him No vices longer near to take the edge off Poor darling who is anything but a darling Spewing vitriol Seething disdain Or silent A small smile of something like escape when a bright red cardinal flits by Free