Anniversary

The doctor was young enough to be
his grandchild
and barely able to raise a beard.
Consulting a chart,
that fledgling dared to proclaim,
given the odds,
he had at best six months to live.

It was not heart disease or death
that drew his
ire in response; rather, it was
the prediction
being delivered with such surety.
No child had
the right to pronounce his fate.

And so now it is not a birthday
or marriage date
that he chooses to commemorate,
it’s the erroneous
anniversary of his own demise.
Every half-year,
that baby-faced doctor he defies.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: