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X-Ray
The room is cold and gray
The room; where I’d have my x-ray
My sneakers tap
Against the floor; which overlaps
With humming machines
The hums growing louder like screams
My stiff, scratchy gown
Coils around my neck; wrapping around
Attempts to cut off my air; to choke
With the strength of a foggy, gray smoke
The floor feels icy and massive
The sounding footsteps no longer passive
I am directed to stand near a machine; my back against
The rectangular-shaped lenses telling me not to resent
I press my back against the machine; a few lenses flash
Like a quick lash
My back is then against a long board
That’s white, hard, and absorbs
The images, the lensing flashes
My feet tremblie slightly
Due to the cold air; biting
Soon, the x-ray is done; I walk out
Of the room; a simple route
The x-ray then shows a whitened image
Of my stomach, of my body, which soon diminish
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About x-rays; in general