There’s nothing pink about cancer
though there’s a whole rainbow of pain:
skin scalded by radiation,
and orange with betadine stains,
the needle bruises, greens and blues
slowly yellowing as they fade,
the scarlet of an angry scar,
and the black of a sunken vein.
There’s nothing remotely pastel
in stark choices that must be made –
which body parts to sacrifice
in the hope that some can be saved.
And it’s not just for princesses –
their princes can also be claimed.
In horrible equality,
all are hairless, sexless and drained.
It gnaws at families, and friendships,
till only the strongest remain.
No, there’s nothing pink about cancer;
it’s cold, and it’s cruel, and it’s grey.