Jasper Glen
MY DAD’S RADIATION MASK
A sudden white hood
Over the dining room table.
A Birdman revival; a gaudy
Article: plague doctor snout.
Something anti-biological about it.
The plastic chain-link; the leaving
Of the mouth and eyeholes.
To hold the head and neck still.
There is something beautiful about
Facing sunburn with peace of mind.
Lay on the table; play a chess match.
Just cancer logistics: kill
Percentage vs. risk. Nuclear
Therapy. Head in the private
Death chamber. I put the mask over
My face to see what he saw:
‘Cancer survivors are transforming
Their radiation masks into art’.
I have never felt so close to my father.
Sculptures, mostly, paper mâché
Faces softened, painted red ochre.
Somber, tallying straw around them.