Dismissed
- Surviving Breast Cancer
- 2 hours ago
- 2 min read
By Sara Kandler
Manhattan 2003
another specialist
heavy hitter on Park Ave
dim lights
low hum
warm ooze
semi-circles over her stomach
almost soothing
Not seeing much
he declares
then a hmph
we are pretty backed up though
a higher voice pipes up
yes siree
and they share a two-toned chuckle
champagne glasses clinking
by a crackling fire
mom’s eyes fixed hard on the monitor
white ghosts
like swelling balloons
as their chatter sinks in
shame washes over her
naked body
butt of their joke
No need to fret
he assures
(is that even a word)
bleeding is quite common
she knows a
blood filled toilet bowl is
not common
tries to explain this
dismissed
he turns up the lights
pats her shoulder
gentle whack of a rolled newspaper
obscuring the bad news
Providence 2025
the man in a worn tee
pushing a wide rag mop
down long hallways
across classrooms
catching gum wrappers
under lab tables
a used vape by a toilet
and that crumpled paper tossed
behind a door
dark arrows aimed at a stick figure
he’d noticed a guy lurking
peering through doorways
washing his hands slowly in the bathroom
stuck out like a sore thumb
in his light pants
a week before Christmas
thin fabric billowing like a balloon out
in the frigid wind
pacing the streets nearby
elegant victorians
quartered for students
the janitor decides to tell the uniformed guards
at their large desk in the lobby
see there’s this guy
something’s up with him
I’m sure of it
they smile
jab his shoulder and say
don’t worry yourself Joe
you just do your job
and we’ll do ours
(as if he could do ours)
and he lumbers off
head bent
dismissed
the guards head out for coffee
puzzled by the loud sirens and flashing lights
speeding their way
Interstate 87
Honey just try to stay within about 5 miles of the speed limit okay
I’m just gonna close my eyes for ten minutes or so I’m
so sleepy but sweetie seriously I’d appreciate it if you could
pleas
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