IS AN MRI A POEM?

If corporations are people, is an MRI a poem?

Does it have words?
No.

Does it have a title?
Yes – Magnetic Resonance Imaging.

Does it have stanzas?
Yes – unexpected pauses between hammering.
Some stanzas have many beats that suddenly stop.

Does it have an oral form that you can listen to?
Yes – requires earplugs so ears won’t pop. Headphones, too.
You must lie still and supine on a table to listen.

Does it have rhythm?
Yes – immense amounts of irregular, erratic banging,
depending on time it takes for magnetized cells to reset.
There might be 15 beats to a measure followed by a long rest.

Does it have images?
Yes – a striped line down the center of a tube,
longer but not wider than a very tall human being —
if you open your eyes.

Does it move from a concrete particular to an abstract universal?
Yes – from “trapped on a table” to
“how the hell can I get out of this coffin?”

Does it convey an overall feeling?
Yes – claustrophobia.

Does it give you something more than you had before the MRI?
Yes, definitely – Agita!

So, do you think an MRI is a poem?
Can’t tell you — I’m still shaking.