It should be daunting, sitting
in a waiting area in a gown
that is open in the back, the room
like most all in such offices
more refrigerator than lounge.
She smile and says “It’s your turn,
we’ll do one, take another patient
and then the other. Is that okay?”
A nice question but it isn’t like
I have any real choice.
The MRI tube is ancient
as these scanners go, why I suppose
they can use it on me with my implant.
She rolls me into the tube after
putting on my headphone,
the music “classic rock” per
my request, and as the machine
clangs to life I feel like a contestant
on a medical version of Name That
Tune, trying to identify songs
I know so well over the noise
of the scanner, and I want to say
“I can name that tune in three clangs”
but there is no one who wants
or cares to hear it so I lie still
and hum along to myself.