Aren’t You Special?

Cancer’s a multiply selfish disease,
From the rapacious pirate cells themselves

To the manner in which you turn inward
To consider the extraordinary

Sense of being singled out, even though
Nothing much is commoner than cancer.

It’s sort of an inverse apocalypse
Or extremely modular pandemic—

Rather than a panoramic collapse,
Millions of invisible assassins

Cull the population, one at a time,
And everyone knows someone, but just

Bespoke disaster in a single frame
Each time, so each can claim, Death’s mine, all mine.