Poem of the Week #159

Waiting For My Mammogram

It is Tuesday.
It is snowing.
I am early.
I wait in the
waiting room
of the breast
diagnostic center.
I wait for my name
to be called.
All the people
were smiling
on the way in.
On the way
into the clinic,
they were smiling.
Why is everyone
so happy?
Are they early?
Are they healthy?
It is Tuesday
and everyone
is smiling.
I take my chair.
I am early.
I have a book,
but I am not
reading.
On the table
there are magazines
They tell about
how to be fit
at 40 and fall’s
best coats.
(But it is already
winter and besides,
I am past 50.)
I am not inclined
to age-proof
my hair or mind
the suprising truth
about salt.
I am early
but I am not reading.
I am thinking
about Mary.
There are no more
Tuesdays for her.
A simple thing really,
Tuesday. We take it
for granted. Mary
was early. Death
came too early.
I did not know her.
But I knew of her.
She was waiting.
She was early.
Gabe died too,
but not of cancer.
He came to hear
a lecture on Tuesday
and then, he died
on Wednesday.
I knew him a little,
from English Lit.
He rode
a motorcycle.
But that is not
how he died.
His heart stopped
while he was reading
in his chair one night.
In the morning,
he was dead.
He was not ready.
He was not waiting.
He did not know
he would die,
at least, not
on a Wednesday.
Today is Tuesday.
It is snowing.
I am early.
I am waiting
for my name
to be called.


Lisa Vihos