It’s that annual visit
no woman wants to make.
But, there she is, half naked,
facing the machine
again, helpless as it
mauls her body.
It’s a strange way to treat
a living, breathing woman.
When it’s over, she goes home,
waits for the usual letter
that says “All’s well.”
Instead, much sooner,
a phone call:
“We want you to come back.
Can’t tell you why.
Don’t come for a week.”
She’s afraid, near tears,
imagining the worst.
Late at night, lying
next to her sleeping
husband, she’s wide awake,
thinking of friends
called back,
no longer here.
She faces the monster again.
It responds
grabbing on and smashing,
smashing, smashing.
(more)
Smashing, Smashing, Smashing,
“Can you take more?
Just a little?
Hold it, hold it.
Okay, breathe.”
Next, kinder machines
are called. She watches
the screen to see the tiny invader
magnified.
She’s back in a week
when they suck out its contents,
find a run-of- the-mill nothing,
pronounce all well.
Resting under warm blankets,
she almost falls asleep.
Then, it’s “Up, up, up.
Take it easy at home.”
They walk her to the front door,
stand there waving good-bye
just like her parents at Christmas.
“Come back next year.”
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