Delivering Bad News

   by Joseph Gascho

He’s listened to her heart and lungs

and looked into her ears every June

for twenty years; he doesn’t need to read

his notes about her broken hip in ‘99

and heart attack five years ago because

he can recall it all. He remembers

that she owns the salon on the square

and laughs when she talks about the colors

that the teenage girls dye their hair.

But today he will have to tell her

about the bone marrow packed with imposters.

He ponders as he pauses at the door.

Should I tell the news at once or first ask

‘How was her day?’ Should I say they’ve found a mass

or should I say word that starts with “C”?

Will she ask about her odds? And if she doesn’t

should I tell her anyway? When she finally leaves

should I shake her hand or would she want a hug?

He knows tonight she’ll tell the news

to someone else and that no matter how he tried

he might have done it wrong.

  Hippocrates Anthology, 2018, p 30. (Commended poem).