The technician called the balding guy
\nwith the slightly bleeding
\nshunt in the crook of his arm,
\nwith whom I had compared notes
\nabout the insipid iodine solution
\nwe were both drinking:
\nhe departed the tiny room,
\none hand holding together
\nthe back of his hospital gown.<\/p>\n
I started hoping they had some
\nthree-armed gowns so I wouldn’t have
\nto hold the back together as I departed
\nwhen it was my turn for the CT scan.<\/p>\n
I was still fully dressed,
\nnow the only patient sitting there
\ncalmly reading an intergalactic novel,
\nwith another two beakers
\nof iodine to come. I knew the drill.<\/p>\n
Soon I was joined by a pair of women
\nwho soon revealed
\none was a patient whose husband
\ndied twenty-seven years ago
\nand the other was a friend
\nwho had driven her to the appointment,
\nwhose husband had died last year.<\/p>\n
I listened as they compared
\nnotes on living alone
\nand the feasibility of dogs
\ngiven by anxious relatives
\nwho did not want them to be alone.<\/p>\n
Soon the elder woman’s beverage arrived,
\nand I engaged her in an effort
\nto find a suitable description
\nfor the insipid, slightly metallic fluid:
\nwe could not. Her companion,
\nthe younger widow, was amused
\njauntily suggested we should all suck
\non lemons and salt and pretend it was tequila.<\/p>\n
We were joined singly by two men
\nwho each in turn rummaged through
\nthe selection of religious, lifestyle,
\nand health community pamphlets
\nfor something to do,
\nand then subsided into meditation
\nas one does in waiting rooms.<\/p>\n
The nurse handed me the older widow looked at the layers I sat facing her in my three-armed gown I wanted to see her I was eating lunch at Jimmy’s place I don’t know, I just folded them The technician called the balding guy with the slightly bleeding shunt in the crook of his arm, with whom I had compared notes about the insipid iodine solution we were both drinking: he departed the tiny room, one hand holding … Continue reading
\na folded pale green hospital gown:
\nTake off everything
\nbut your shoes, socks, and underpants.
\nDo you know how to put on
\n<\/em>a three-armed gown?<\/em>
\nWhen I emerged from the cubicle<\/p>\n
\nof shirt, pants, undershirt
\nshelved on my forearms\u2014
\nYour wife has you well-trained:
\nI could never get my husband to fold
\nanything<\/em>\u2014
\nshe shuddered as if something cold
\nhad arrived.<\/p>\n
\ntrying to keep my hairy knees together.
\nThe flat pile of clothes became a table
\nfor my fists. They felt disconnected
\nfrom me, as if they should be male and
\nholding burgers or beer.<\/p>\n
\nfifty years ago, across a noisy bar,
\nher index finger tracing her full red lips
\ninstead of worrying the rim of the empty
\npaper cup. I went back further:<\/p>\n
\nand had finished my peas but Jimmy’s mother
\nlooking at her ration books noticed that
\nJimmy hadn’t touched his.
\nAnd she was going to open her mouth
\nand the words were going to come out
\nand drive a wedge right down the table.<\/p>\n
\nand
\nand her husband hadn’t finished his
\nand the damn three-armed gown
\nwas making me keep my knees together.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"