You clean yourself and leave a sample.
The precursor is calling you back by a clip
board with your history. Tiled floors, white walls,
almost a staple. “Undress, she will be in, in a moment.”
Each layer you remove a shiver arises like the first time
being naked embarrassed you. Only breathing and crunching
of paper under your bare butt are heard. A slow creek interrupts.
“I have a trainee joining.” Your hands are glue, arm pits draining
into the absorbent paper shirt. “Can you examine her breasts?”
Trying to hide the ticking movements as the trainee moves around
your tissue. Arms are bound by invisible shackles above your head.
“Scoot down.” A spot light beams, interrogating your truthfulness,
cleanliness, and safety of your “area” (molested children point at on the example doll).
Cold lubed medal, cranking open your clean sewage pipe,
sliding in to take a peak.
“Now find the cervix.” Your insides probed, picked at like a kid with a stick.
“You’re going to feel a pinch.” Cold lubed medal retreating
from damp debts of innards. “Use one finger,
she’s too small for two.” An unwelcomed guest
feels your life making device. “You can get dressed.”
A creek returns the welcomed silence. You roll up used
paper and crush it in the trash. Each layer wrapping you like hot
towels just out of the dryer.
“Everything is normal.”
Kayla Steiner is a Biology student at Arizona State University. She likes to write as a hobby, including both poetry and short stories, and hopes to do more with creative writing in the future.