Mri Ii - Poem by Morgan Michaels
'Move up, down, ho! , too far- up a bit more'!
Into the narrow tube I slide, eyes closed, a loaf of dough.
White becomes sheathed in darkness. 'Keep your eyes shut
I self-council, yes, that's the trick, for sure,
but, wait', I recall, 'he said 'sir'-
nobody calls me 'sir', whaduzeewant'?
But he's gone- gone about his business twisting dials
tripping buzzers, making stuff happen-
there's a sound track to this. Ear-plugs in, even,
there's a per-second shuffle-clank
like faraway ankle bells at a Buffalo dance
repetitive, monotonous, making me nappy.
My eyes are closed, but who could sleep
with this concatenation of bells, whistles
buzzes, beeps and the drum pummel, besides?
It sounds like a whole construction team, next-door you;
besides, I know the drill and wait dutifully
eager to play my part- it soon begins.
'Breathe in', says a canned voice, breathy, instructive, female-
'Hold it. Relax'- -it's a lot like yoga, like exercise;
twenty minutes seems an eternity, though. And this IV hurts.
'Ok', says the tech, ....
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