Cancer Sestina
pale and deflated he looks al-
most like a gay cliché
like a news station statistic
like it is Aids eating flesh from
bone—he is surrounded by
well-dressed men, gay
men, you might assume gay
lovers, after all…
and you would be wrong by-
the-way—a sad cliché
where did they come from
you may ask, these statistics
these strange statistics
one-in-ten or one-in-two, gay
which is different from
the old one-in-a-thousand, after all
by choice, another cliché
and they stand by
and they wait by
this different sort of statistic
the American cliché
whatever or straight or gay
cancer will kill us all
from the outside in, from
the inside out, from
pain to hell—good-bye
and this is al-
together a fact, a statistic
and his friends are gay
but his love, not a cliché
their commitment, not a cliché
the one love suffering from
pill-induced sleep, gay
stereotypes, the Prozac good-bye
the cancer statistic
he is, they are, human after all
statistic or not—gay
clichés aside, each one—all
from life to good-bye
