Ian C. Smith

I a n  C.  S m i t h 

more Ian C. Smith

dis-ease

Hospitalised by varicose veins

caused by long-term army service,

pyjamas buttoned right to the top,

my father’s voice becomes a whisper

when he learns from his ward-mate

that the man lies in cancer’s jaws,

Dad believing this to be contagious.

The nurse, crisp, brisk, and busy,

leaves a huge enema at his bedside,

speaking to him as if he is a child.

Returning, she sees it has gone,

asks suspiciously if he has used it.

Pleased, he reports in the affirmative,

croakily says it took some swallowing.