Fraser Sutherland is a poet, editor, and lexicographer who lives in Toronto. He's published 18 books, this year including his new poetry collection Bad Habits (Mosaic Press.)
Diagnosis
You feel fine.
You go to the doctor.
The doctor gives you the results.
"It's not good."
You feel fine.
You go to the doctor.
He tells you after the surgery,
"The prognosis is slightly negative."
You feel fine.
You go to the doctor.
He looks at the chart.
"I'm afraid it's worse."
You feel fine.
You go to the doctor.
He shakes his head,.
"Sorry, you don't have long to live."
You fall dead at his feet.
Is There Love in Your Life?
— a friend's query
No, and then a stranger drifts across
your field, sent by a breeze
and it's high summer.
Though this person
has habits and problems as you do,
though the future that lies before you lies,
though you know this
though the intersection
spells trouble in triplicate
there is only the motion of her inclination, how
she leans this way, that.
Each encounter you notice
imperfect pieces randomly arrange
in shuffle and reassembly
and you know she knows you know this,
how the sweet moment sours
little by little, more and more,
yet you wait breathless for her hair
to brush against your shoulder, and with one hand
she puts it up
and that's all it is,
as both of you, conferring, wait for love to go away.
