Seemed

He__ dying!_ Doctor Cove, one of the ship__ two medical officers told me, looking at his med-scanner as he kneeled at the broken body of the only living Corsair on the black ship. I remember the look on his face as he told me _ which seemed more to be puzzlement than actual concern. The man was a Corsair after all, and had injuries I could see, but he was conscious, and none of them looked fatal. But then, I__ no doctor. I never was any good at healing anything _ and my job was doing the opposite, and I admit I__ pretty good at it. Always have been.

I have outlived a few of the kids that I grew up with in Knowsley Village, Liverpool, UK. Two dropped dead at eighteen years of age from heart attacks! They lived across the road from each other and played together. I wonder if it was some exposure that was common to them? Curiously, an entire family of three ladies all got breast cancer just round the corner from them, it killed my friend! A little further up the road another friend dropped dead of brain cancer in her thirties. Always seemed like far too much premature death in such a small area.

As a schoolboy, poetry seemed defined by preciousness. It was all very rarefied.