Poetry

I wish I had a gun to kill cancer,

with notches on the barrel for the loved ones you took.

I’d hunt you down, through the dark twists of time.

Heartless, indifferent, I’d make you pay.

Like you, I’d give no warning,

creeping from the shadows like a wraith.

I’d blow away your organs, one by one;

lungs, bowel, pancreas, heart.

I’d target your lymph and brain. Poison your blood.

Make your family keep vigil at your bedside.

If I had a gun to kill cancer,

I’d wound you, then keep coming back.

Just when you think I’ve gone,

I’ll reappear, without conscience.

You evil thing; you despicable thief.

You dirty twist of evolution.

If I could, I swear to God I’d kill you.

After that, I’d find some magic to bring back,

the people that I care about. Who were taken by you.

I’d bring back the lives you stole.

If I had a gun to kill cancer.

by Greg Barron

When I get old, too sick to breathe,

carry me down on the river breeze,

to some outback creek all brown and still,

and on those banks I’ll die fulfilled.

Sit me down in a gum tree’s shade,

with a pack of those smokes I gave away.

And an esky filled with ice cold cans.

I’ll raise one high to a sunburned land.

Grey banks of mud will form my grave,

Don’t bother with my soul to save,

I’ll remember every time we laughed,

The birds will sing my epitaph.

by Greg Barron