Every thirty eight seconds
Every thirty eight seconds,
the chemotherapy pump,
cries out,
as another shot,
is fired.
by M. Sakran
Editor’s Note: Though the form of this poem is not strictly haiku, the simple, spare lines carry great weight.
—a poem each day— —read more—
Every thirty eight seconds
Every thirty eight seconds,
the chemotherapy pump,
cries out,
as another shot,
is fired.
by M. Sakran
Editor’s Note: Though the form of this poem is not strictly haiku, the simple, spare lines carry great weight.
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