Curtain Call

The room was so quiet, the lights really bright.
The nurse just smiled and said, “You’re all right.”
A banner was waving, no balloons on the wall.
They said it was time for my Chemo Curtain Call.

I blinked and nodded and didn’t want to cheer.
Could this be the end? Was the finish line near?
We’d laughed and had fun, the moments so sweet.
This stage was a thrill. I didn’t want to retreat.

The prostate’s behaving—it’s being polite.
But the stomach? That rascal still puts up a fight.
“There’s spots,” said the scan, “just one or two there.”
Are they nothing? Or something? Or just stomach flair?

We won’t know for a month—maybe longer, it’s true,
Till they send down a scope for a much clearer view.
The brain scan looked normal. Now that’s quite a feat.
I said, “Can you see where my rhymes are complete?”

The doctor laughed and said, “Not a trace of a rhyme.”
Well, maybe my verses just need more time.
So what have I learned on this winding, wild ride?
That strength isn’t muscles. It comes from inside.

I feel more alive than I did in the past.
And somehow, I’m working three times as fast.
You’d think I’d sit down. Take a nap. Maybe rest.
But my list of ideas just won’t let me rest.

So I pray, and I listen, and I pause when I should.
Not all that I can do … is all that I should.
For God knows the plan, and he sees it all—
Whether this is the end … or just Act Two’s Curtain Call.