You’d noticed your urine’s blushes, 

complained of pain when it’s passing.


Your urologist has seen 

a golf-ball in your bladder. 


Before I looked into my microscope, 

I could sense the image I’d see. 


Deranged, delinquent cells, 

with no sense of right and wrong, 


swarmed into view, trespassing 

in tissue where they had no right 


to roam, replacing it and dying 

as they ran ahead of their supplies.


As I write my report, I picture 

your face when told the news, 


watch it fade like an old photo, 

when I press the authorise button.


Richard Y Ball