A new poem by Wellington poet David Beach.

LINAC

Every weekday I take the bus to the
hospital for my two minutes of healing
radiance. Essentially a target, or
the tumour that, I’m lined up on the slab
according to the tattoos (I had
never felt the urge to get a tattoo) I
now sport. The liner-uppers depart, leave
me to the machine’s scrutiny as it
revolves around me. Lying there trying not
to think about twitching I peer into
the darkness of the lenses. There are no
answers – I’m not even sure I have
questions. The buzzer kicks in, indicating
that the machine is blasting away.

The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed and will open again soon.