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