In the dictionary

[revised edition, 1962]

And there we’ll be,

The two of you and me.

Yet on Tuesday they’re going to chop you off.

Years ago you gave my boys life.

Now they say by staying there

You can just about finish off mine.

Hated the way cold hands rushed

To have you squashed and squeezed.

Don’t they know, there’s no need

For all their flustered expertise.

You would never hurt me.

But it seems

Even government queues

Shrink in fear

Whehever the dreaded words

Breast cancer are heard.

Tentatively,

I cup both tenderly

As déjà vu comes seeping through

The thrill rides and all

The merry go rounds in between.

God, I can even feel

The pull and bite

Milky sips being gobbled up.

They couldn’t get enough, could they?

But then, neither could we.

Damn. Damn these stupid unstoppable tears

Splashing down on you.

Don’t want you to leave

Soggy as an old kitchen rag.

Come on, let’s plan it together your final hour.

Put on your pink Westwood corset

The one that always guaranteed cheers

And never failed to bring Pete

[he, who will miss you almost as much as me]

Down to his knees.

I’m doing it up now

As tight as I can

Hold on…. Can you still breathe.

One last thing before you go,

Don’t worry about the space you leave behind.

I’ll do you proud, whatever it takes

I’ll keep it in the style you were accustomed to,

Until it is time for me

To come looking for you

And we are whole,

Once more.