Poets for Science
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Impatient

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Impatiently,

I wait in the tube

for the result,

as I watch her

staring at me

through the glass,

waiting, patiently.

I see no answers

in her eyes—

just gauges

that measure me

and make me

wonder if I am

a part of her cure.

A number, blind

w/ false hopes —

a passing

to be noted1

while she becomes

immortalized

1(as a cell in an

academic organ).

I shake the

treatment of

that thought,

as I am told

of the greater good,

That even if I die,

science will grow.

My cancer.