It came in spring with the stealth of a worm,
as insidious as mold, as sly as a ferret,
slunk out of the ditch and onto the road,
sidled up the drive and in thru’ the door,
slipped down the hallway and into the bedroom,
inched under the bed, settled into a corner
to stay awhile.
All through the summer it built its rough nest
of mutagens woven from the soiled cells
of a long lost pile of lymphoma.
It spat the chinks full of carcinogens
and lashed down the roof with mitosis
and once comfortable, allowed itself to enjoy
its new home.
Come autumn it simmered in self-imposed squalor,
pulled up the draw bridge, dug in for the long haul,
dispensed of the mobozil, herceptin and chemo
with a flick of its tongue, a rip of its tail.
Grew fat on a diet of telomerase,
metastasis, malignancy and dust balls
and heart ache.
In winter it departed,