Pressure Test

The cuff has a mechanical hunger.

It cinches the sleeve of my coat

until my pulse is a panicked bird

trapped in the crook of my elbow.

148 over 95.

The screen is a judgmental eye

blinking in the fluorescent glare

of the aisle with the cheap shampoo.

When the air hissed out,

I ripped the Velcro

with a sound like a dry stick snapping.

My arm stayed numb all the way to the car.