The Maynard
Spring 2018

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Magnetic Resonance

The hospital aide lost seventy pounds, but
she still attracts “slutty losers.” She says so herself.
We all overhear. I suppose it’s easy to expose
yourself when everyone around you is wearing
those backward gowns. Here, we are all ashamed
of our backsides—and the weight we cannot shed.

The woman in front of me is wearing woolen work socks;
she smiles nervously and I know how she feels.
When they call her in, she walks as if headed to
a construction site, striding, blueprints in hand.
The aide’s eyes follow her trim figure.

Inside the machine, the headphones do not deafen
the hammering of its sadistic gavel; I am just robbed
of the easy voices praising online dating
to a woman who hates her body because she’s single.
I need their faith in technology. I need her doubt.

Later, in the change room, I find a discarded work sock.
The woman who went ahead of me has left it behind.
It is a token of her faith in technology. It is a token of her doubt.