HIGH OCTANE COURAGE
At I-95 Cloverdale exit in Winston-Salem is a Shell station.
On the hill above is Bowman Gray School of Medicine.
On the third floor are cubicles where cancer patients sit
for long hours of chemo as plastic pouches of medicine
nerve-wrackingly, slowly drip down long tubes
pumping rituxan and doxorubicin and bleomycin
into veins breathlessly waiting for a cure.
Out the broad expense of windows
is a red sign over the Shell station:
GET WELL SOON
Wearing a cap autographed by his friends,
attached to a tangle of tubes and bags
and plugged into a port, my son, age 22,
looks out the window
toward the Chevy Lumina in the parking lot
breathlessly wishing to be on the road.