The Man With The White Knitted Hat.

We waited the hours together,
us and the man with the white knitted hat,
pale and often slipping down in his chair
he looked desperately ill.
His wife sat tiredly and patiently by his side.


He joined us once again sitting opposite,
in the ‘chemo chairs’
the four of us waiting as if for a bus,
but really to win further days.
The skilled nurse attached the Cannula to his oh so pale hand,
difficult but finally achieved,
he smiled a weary smile across at me.
The jaunty white hat seemed to perch on top his shiny pate
far too small and not really doing the job it was intended for.


My heart ached.


I smiled back, while my man was busy
being attached to the life giving elixir
that would hopefully give them both extra time?
I offered up my usual prayer.


The man with the white knitted hat whose face was
waxy pale, glanced across at us.
His wife or carer I noticed had swollen ankles,
perhaps from the many hours spent caring and fighting
‘this beast’ that was trying to take her husband from her.


The vials appeared like a sunburst of golden treasures,
“it seems we are travelling the same journey” I said
“Yes, it’s a long tough battle isn’t it”
said the man with the white knitted hat.


I turned my eyes to see the beautiful slim brown hands
of my beloved, my Father’s ring adorning his right hand
resting on the heated pillow.


Then looking across at the pale transparent hands
of our new friend I noticed,
that the first two fingers of his other hand,
were tightly crossed.


How my heart ached.



All Rights Reserved @ 2010
Addendum: I learnt that this nice gentleman passed away shortly after this poem was written.