Before my bowel operation I convinced myself I was going to die on the operating table. It was having to sign that form acknowledging death as one of the risks of surgery. I wrote this poem about some important people just in case.
Written Before Surgery to Take My Cancer Out
If the operation doesn't work
and I die under the surgeon's knife,
let my lost loves and my old friends know.
I would want to hear the same of them.
When they cut my body open,
if I die remember me to Helen.
I loved her as a teenager,
but I didn't have the nerve to say.
Remember me to Shirley too.
I knew her in my twenties.
She held my hands to warm hers once
in the Wimpy Bar in Wellingborough.
Remember me to Katie R.
The toy cat that she gave me
for my birthday many years ago
is still there on my bookcase
by the Green Man and a music box.
And don't forget to tell Martyna,
my companion through my uni years.
She let me feel her daughter move
inside her pregnant belly.
Remember me to everyone
because each and every one was precious,
and tell them all my ashes
will be scattered on the River Nene.
Bruce Hodder, late May 2022.
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