day TWO HUNDRED and THIRTEEN

Hell

She’s been complaining for nearly two hours

which is how long we have been waiting

in this packed waiting room

for an MRI.

I’ve lost count of how many MRIs

I have had in the last three years

but here we are,

me trying to not think about

how small that tube is.

You trying not to think

about the cancer coming back

so in a way I guess this is a welcomed distraction.

She keeps getting up from her seat,

her arm hurts,

she wants the IV out

she complains to the people at the desk.

She complains to the people around her,

now getting them all riled up

so they too want to know what the wait is for.

She works for a doctor’s office

she tells everyone.

We shouldn’t have to stand for this.

She raises her fist in solidarity

but then winces and cradles it.

I close my eyes.

I try to breathe.

She gets up wandering

through the double doors

back to the treatment area

and each time she comes in and out

opening the doors

my stomach jumps

thinking it’s the nurse

coming for me.

On the television

in the corner

Trump is yelling about CNN

showing that stupid video

bleating like a goat about himself.

I look away hating the sound of his voice.

I take your hand

lay my head on your shoulder.

You kiss my forehead.

We wait.

She moans.

Trump bleats.

and I think

This is what hell must feel like.

--Ally Malinenko