In The X-Ray Studio Poem by William F Dougherty

Deep breath. Hold it. Don't move. Okay, breathe out.
The second scan detects a new dismay:
X-rays confirm my body's swollen doubt.
I feel the chest straps tug; nurses convey
My gurney toward the operating room's
Dumbfounding glare. My surgeon wears a frown,
Confides a crooked complication looms.
I eavesdropp on the chat of starchy gowns.

On glossy trays, I spy the vanguard blade;
Catch sight of stainless forceps' slackened jaws;
And as I bluff that I am unafraid
The anesthesia gums my mind in pause,

But not before her image makes me start
And even as I drown, my heart takes heart.