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