Cold listen

On screen, the doctor, serious and keen,

placed the metal disc, flat on the chest.

I flinched, remembering that cold, unseen,

a sudden jolt, putting nerves to the test.

It’s a sharp invasion, that smooth, cold round,

a physical shock before the breath is heard.

My skin recoiled, from the sterile sound

of touch, a small, involuntary word

held back. Just metal, doing its job, precise.

But the memory of that chill, it stays,

a tiny, clinical, unasked-for price,

for a moment of truth in those sterile days.