By Kate Meyer-Currey
when you got with me I had no idea
it could be a life-sentence you’re an armed robber holding me under false imprisonment in my own body gun to my head until I get your bally off and see if you’re just a mosquito a runner fake cancer-gangster or a real big OC
man tumour ready to take me down
you’ve gone OT in my left boob conch
among its lumps cuckooing my cells
feeding my veins like county lines
waiting for reload so I’ve handed
myself in to the hospital to get your
mammogram mugshot and radiography
recognition so you stand out in a
microscope line up plus the biopsy of
tissue you left at the crime scene every contact
leaves a trace so either it’s a
case of mistaken identity wrong boob
wrong time or you’re bang at it making
me play russian roulette depends if
you’re just a rubber bullet or full metal
jacket collateral feels the same right now either
way you’re the snake that grassed
me up so I’ll be wired up when they send
a shank team in to get you out I hold you
to account for wrecking my gaff right now you’re
bailed to my home address and I’m waiting on
recall to hospital while you cook
up more dodgy cells to make me your
cancer crack whore roll on sentence date
hope you go away for good for possession
with intent to supply and I get out on tag
with breast care nurse probation to scare
me straight got a restraining order so stay
in your dead pool breach my chest wall again
and it won’t be double jeopardy no you’ll
be dead man walking because I’m living
my Shawshank Redemption fantasy baby
no word of a lie. Bang you’re dead to me.
