Displacement

The nurse doesn’t look up from the chart.

I stand on the cold metal, doing my part.

The slide bar clicks with a heavy, lead sound.

I keep my eyes fixed on the tile-covered ground.

At the one-fifty mark, the black paint is gone,

rubbed off by the women who came before dawn.

We all weigh the same in this fluorescent light:

just a number that never feels quite right.