Radiation Room

“Do you want to die alone?”

my lover asked me,

when I left our lives together.

But I’ve been there

precision steel purgatory.

The technician

like a new wife

trussing her first turkey

arranges elbow, darkened

armpit, inelegant twist:

“Well...I guess

that’s good enough...”

Leaving me

snow-flecked prey.

The machine purrs

its vicious tongue

prying open scars

scraping the gristled cavity

with its stinking sterile breath.