From the moment I set eyes on him, I decide I don’t like him.
It smells of death in here.
His eyes have a haunted look
Of horror stories never publicised.
I hold your hand
A few bones make popping sounds from the pressure.
From a faraway place I hear your faint sobs.
They pull me back in the office.
A few months,he says
That is all you got left.
I drift back to my faraway place
It’s blank there, no joy… no sorrow.
Back in the office,
from my free hand
a small strip of pink ribbon floats gracefuly in the air.
it gingerly settles on a breast cancer awareness poster on the table.
The face of a crying women covers most of the poster.
The ribbon resigns there
as if it has reached its final destiny.
Ironic.
By Vimbai Lole
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