I say it’s a knife fight that landed the bandage
on my right cheek. The biopsy story
elicits sympathy I don’t want or need.
The knife story renders me edgy.
I say it’s a sword that pierced clear through
my right breast. The biopsy story
worries even those whose worried minds
never count me among their concerns.
Neither of these probes frighten or surprise me.
If positive, I’ll excise the tumors.
After all, I’ve been severing parts of myself
for decades just to get by in this world.