Treatment
By Tim Louis Macaluso
Monday through Friday
every day for nine weeks
6:45 a.m. the regimen begins
drink one quart of water
fill the bladder
until it builds to a river
reach for a hospital gown
cornflower blue with open back
ties at the neck and waist
prefer the most worn
soft and laundered cottons
on their way to becoming rags
look for Richard
who drives here from Buffalo
the lone male technician
with a wife and six kids
deep breath, he says
he inserts his pointer finger
asks a string of innocuous questions
that don’t require answers;
8:15 a.m. and the table ascends
into place as if I were
the monster’s bride
shocked and ashamed
of these broken parts
this affair without my consent
that gives this growth life;
the machine is muscular and massive
its round mushroom head
spreads over me like a cop
I knew when I was in my twenties
signs to either side of the room
buzz in red letters
RADIATION BEAM ON
and then it coils around my groin
like an anaconda;
when it’s over
Richard removes the
balloon in my rectum
with a quick tug
feels like loose teeth
are rolling around
in the marsh that used to be
my manhood,
relieved there is no odor
rolls me to my side and wipes
my old white man’s ass clean
in short firm scrubs;
five more weeks
of passing the huddle of women
in the waiting room
with their shiny heads
knitting bags and romance novels;
five more weeks
of wondering why?
How did we end up here?
Chances are it will take
at least one of us, maybe more,
we all have that look
like it’s time
to make that deal with God;
I’m tempted to say
we’ve already met
he’s a lovely man,
but not that reliable.
Sometimes he’s
just a whiny punk hiding
in the tabernacle
behind gold lamé drapes;
he knows diplomacy
doesn’t always work
with cancer. But, believe
what you will
if it helps.
every day for nine weeks
6:45 a.m. the regimen begins
drink one quart of water
fill the bladder
until it builds to a river
reach for a hospital gown
cornflower blue with open back
ties at the neck and waist
prefer the most worn
soft and laundered cottons
on their way to becoming rags
look for Richard
who drives here from Buffalo
the lone male technician
with a wife and six kids
deep breath, he says
he inserts his pointer finger
asks a string of innocuous questions
that don’t require answers;
8:15 a.m. and the table ascends
into place as if I were
the monster’s bride
shocked and ashamed
of these broken parts
this affair without my consent
that gives this growth life;
the machine is muscular and massive
its round mushroom head
spreads over me like a cop
I knew when I was in my twenties
signs to either side of the room
buzz in red letters
RADIATION BEAM ON
and then it coils around my groin
like an anaconda;
when it’s over
Richard removes the
balloon in my rectum
with a quick tug
feels like loose teeth
are rolling around
in the marsh that used to be
my manhood,
relieved there is no odor
rolls me to my side and wipes
my old white man’s ass clean
in short firm scrubs;
five more weeks
of passing the huddle of women
in the waiting room
with their shiny heads
knitting bags and romance novels;
five more weeks
of wondering why?
How did we end up here?
Chances are it will take
at least one of us, maybe more,
we all have that look
like it’s time
to make that deal with God;
I’m tempted to say
we’ve already met
he’s a lovely man,
but not that reliable.
Sometimes he’s
just a whiny punk hiding
in the tabernacle
behind gold lamé drapes;
he knows diplomacy
doesn’t always work
with cancer. But, believe
what you will
if it helps.
Tim Louis Macaluso is an openly gay poet, writer, and award-winning journalist. He has worked in media for much of his career. Most recently, he was a staff writer for CITY Newspaper in Rochester, NY, where he wrote extensively about poverty, urban education, and progressive politics. His poetry has appeared in numerous print and online publications, including HazMat Review, Mudfish, and ImageOutWrite, the literary arm of Rochester’s LGBTQ+ film festival. Macaluso is a graduate of Nazareth College where he earned his bachelor’s degree. He lives in Upstate New York with Daryl Parks, his husband and long-time partner.