I haven’t met cancer in person, only glanced her lair.

The entry is one you inch up to laying down,

a freezing cold doctor’s office,

grey paper-lined table, white-tiled ceiling.

 

She has more than one steward,

tech, doctor, shapeshifter with a well-worn impartiality;

friendly yet neutral tones request you disrobe for feeding.

 

Cancer prefers her victims at least partially nude,

wearing a drab, ill-fitting uniform,

sweetened with gels, tenderized with dyes.

 

When properly dressed, offered up

she may, or may not, appear to devour you;

her fickleness is part of her fearsome aura.

 

Once you’ve been selected for sacrifice

you’ll be proffered again and again – 

it’s only a matter of time.