68 Degrees

The clock and my watch are having a fight,

ticking out of time in the fluorescent light.

I’ve been in this chair for twenty minutes now,

with the paper gown sticking to my brow.

The door swings open and he doesn’t look up,

just sets down his chart and a plastic cup.

Then the metal hits my ribs like a piece of ice,

and the goosebumps rise up, cold and precise.