Jamie Grant: Two Poems

Dry Rot Making conversation while waiting on the tee I mentioned that I’d been in hospital with a faulty heart. “Is that all?” said one of the others. “I am having chemotherapy for prostate cancer.” “Well, I have got leukemia,” said another. The third member of the foursome didn’t utter a word, so we turned to him. “I would not go to the doctor. I don’t want to find out what is wrong with me,” he said. We each hit a ball into the familiar green landscape that appeared before us, regular in its contours as a flowerbed, a tree-framed…

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