CT Scan By Alyssa Trivett

Whirring is a sport now.

I talk to God as 

the dial on the machine

winds round my being

and play patty cake in place,

waiting for the results.

It starts, then ends.

They wheel me back to room 4, 

since it’s April the sixth the door chirps and birds

trolley hop cross the windowsill.

On Rickert, I always thought that was a strange

 name for a street. 

One of my high school friends lived 

a block and a half over and 

I’m sure the sunken basketball hoop 

crater is still there.

It may not matter though. 

Time flies on and the hours fall off the clock.

The nurse told me his first CT scan ever was when

 he got hit by a pitch in fourth grade, yet he doesn’t 

remember it.

Enter evening hours, it flips on

like an automated coffeemaker,

and I am free to automated door 

hiss breeze, thankfully.

And dive into the holiday weekend

with no loose thoughts,

and I listen to the trees,

even if just 

for a moment.

Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places, but most recently at Ex Ex Lit, and Duane's PoeTree site.