HE'S CERTAIN YOU CAN BEAT THIS

You dream you're dying.

Dr. Elkins, the premier specialist in this field,

     agrees to take you on. He's dispassionate

     but sympathetic. He's certain you can beat this.

You drive home startled but

     confident, it's just cancer, he's

     the preeminent expert, after all,

     you promise to buy a juicer, you'll

     eat better, and exercise.

This is what you've been waiting for, a reason!

Your wife doesn't believe you when you say     

     it's early, you'll beat this, Dr. Elkins

     is certain, he's had great success.

You walk everywhere, drink carrot juice, 

     kumquats and pomegranates, mangos,

     bike everywhere, eat raw vegetables,

     you're looking radiant and fit. "Just what exactly is it?"

     your wife asks, what is this disease? I 

     don't know, you say, this is just part of the plan, 

     I get the serum every two weeks. We'll beat this.

She'll see. 

Dr. Elkins' office is a ramshackle joint by the rail line,

     a real hobo hideout with a pot-bellied stove. 

     You wife demands to know your fate.

     "It's worse than we thought," he says.

     He's squinting through his spectacles, 

     looking at your latest test. "I'm sorry.

     Keep doing what you're doing, all

     this exercise, it's working."

You drive home crying, your wife crying too.

You call all your friends, your family, they all agree

     it's rotten.

Dr. Elkins is working on a new cure. He's 

     had great success--it' a homemade contraption,

     wheels of spatulas like a ferris wheel,

     spinning slices of wonder bread and

     pimento loaf while marshmallow fluff 

     spills out like sausage. The machine 

     massages you with the bread and meat

     and spins the centrifuge which extracts more serum

     from the blood of earthworms.

The nurse sees you're haunted by your mortality.

She walks you outline to the rail lines and sings an aria 

     while she leads you by the arm, stepping over the ties.

     It's beautiful, this song, the nurse is tall and lovely

     and now you understand this whole carnival

     is the cure! It's sad! It's tragic! You'll beat this thing!

At home you look in your child's eyes and see

     what's been there all along. He's not sad. 

     He hugs you like he always does, as if 

     for a moment you're the only person in the world,

     the way he hugs you goodnight every night.

The pain is unbearable. You visit Dr. Elkins and

     there's nothing he can do.
The nurse still walks you along the tracks singing. 
     It's still beautiful and she leads you by the arm. 
     It's midnight. You cannot see and you're 
     waiting for the train. You can sense the vandals 
     closing in. You call 911 on  your cell. It's 
     not supposed to be like this. The operator says
      "I know. We're coming." 
You see the lone eye in the distance.

It will take forever to get here. This will not end well, 
     you say, you can hear the vandals laughing, 
     they're carrying torches and they mean business.