I have 3 minutes for cancer, he’d wearily say,
3 minutes no more, or you’ll spoil my day.
I hung on those words as they rang in my ear,
And asked instead, how’s the badger?
“Well now,” he’d chirp, “he’s coming along,
I’ve worked out a method to keep his back strong.
I’ve lacquered his coat in a curious oil,
That keeps him protected to weather the toil.
I studied his shape and drew out a plan,
I learned how to steady each leg with one hand.
I’m a novice it’s true so who knows what he’ll be,
But it’s keeping my mind on something other than me.
He’s coming on nicely, he’s really quite sweet,
Though I’m puzzled to how I will handle his feet.
They’ll need to be level and evenly matched,
But my eyes aren’t so good and my glasses are scratched.
I’d like to angle his head to the right,
As if he can hear something just out of sight.
I’ll paint him eventually, so he fits in,
And when he is dry I’ll apply a thick skin.”
He spoke of the badger until weariness returned,
He’d sleep and I’d hold on to all that I’d learned.
And what of the badger whose ears are just right?
He’s listening for somebody just out of sight.By Jules Stapleton Barnes
09 Jan 2018
