My fingers were just kneading at my thigh
Where I’ve a little knot of pain that stays.
I’m wishing it will vanish by and by,
But it’s persisted now for several days,
Perhaps a side-effect, my doctor said,
Of some pill that I’m taking presently,
Not something ominous I need to dread:
A spreading of the cancer now in me.
I tested that, but still found no relief—
Though now, distracted by my writing, I
No longer apprehend that chronic grief
For reasons I can only wonder why,
Oh, there it is again—I guess it’s chronic.
I hope that I can find some potent tonic.