Magnetic Imaging
Highland
Hospital – December 23, 2011
The
needle slides
In the hospital waiting room a man sits
With a
pinch, then through
Still as a zen master waiting for – what?
And the
muscles flinch
Results? His wife? The TV Commercial to
end?
Her
apology, her smile
Someone opens a pack of peanut butter
crackers
Gentle
as she peels back
Unable to squelch the screech of cellophane
wrapper coming undone
Another
sharp, and prepares
Women and men wearing scrubs pull on their
coats
To try
again, finger flicking
Call Merry Christmas across the hall
A vein
bulging for her in invitation,
As darkness fills the only window
The
second needle slips in
to what light there was outside today
And as
she pulls back, blood fills
She checks the time,
the reservoir,
she smiles
freshens her lipstick,
flushes
the vein with saline,
pulls another section of the Times
and
hands him over
from her bag
to the
technician,
re-folds his jacket,
“He’s
all yours, now,”
Counts her blessings.
© Lou
Faber and Elaine Heveron
1 comments:
After walking to the hospital, so close to our house, Lou had his MRI today. I suggested we write a poem, every other line his, every other line mine. He said, I already wrote about it. I said, So dd I. Here is the poem we wrote, by combining our poems.His lines are normal font; my lines are in italics.
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