MRI scan

They told me
‘It will be noisy.’
They gave me
headphones,
a buzzer.
They said
‘Don’t move.’

Magnets shift,
Amplitudes suck,
squeeze frequencies , waves,
grey shades.
Computing my pictures.

I can hear it.
Thudding.
Shaking
through the headphones.
A song of discord
I don’t recognise
as it clatters,
adding up something
unspeakable.
Unstoppable.

I can’t put my reflections back.
Safely.
Neatly.
In the right place.

Rowena Warwick

If you have any comments on this poem, Rowena Warwick  would be pleased to hear from you.