issue67amansultrasound

                                   ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

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A Man’s Ultra Sound

by Mathias Nelson

“OH MY GOD!”
     There’s a bump on my right testicle.
“WHAT AM I GONNA DO?”
      I request a female doctor.

Go to the hospital
and she turns out
to be hot.
      I try my hardest
      not to get
      an erection.
Her hands are cold,
but they still feel nice
on such a hot day.
      I look out the window
      after a glimpse
      of cleavage
      and think about my grandma.

Call me Limp.

She doesn’t think it’s a tumor.
       “Thank God!”
But I need to have
an ultra sound.
       “But I thought that was for babies?”
On her knees, she looks up with a crooked grin,
and says, “Men are babies.”
      I request a female nurse.

Show up at the hospital
a second time,
nerves lingering in
my belly.
      “What if it really is a tumor?”
I cross my fingers and hope for the best,
only to see
my nurse
is young
fine as
can be
      She asks me, “How are you today?”
      I give her a shaky smirk and say, “Okayayay,”
hoping I don’t get
a boner.

She tells me to take my pants off,
lie down and cover
my penis
with a towel.
      She starts to feel,
      with cold hands
      on a warm day.
I tell myself that I won’t get a boner, cause
I didn’t last time.
      Just look away.
Then she brings out
the transducer probe,
a smooth ball she uses
to rub my ball.
      It is covered
      in warm lube.
I think of my grandma,
but can’t get the image
of the nurse and
the doctor’s
cleavage from my head
      So under the towel
      I get an erection
      instead
      and I look to the nurse
      I don’t think she sees
      the mountain under the towel
      flat against
      my belly.
She rubs the warm-lubed ball
on my ball
for fifteen minutes
while I glance at her
under
fluorescent.
      She says I have a collection of spermatic fluid,
      not a tumor.

That was great,
I think
when it’s all over,
God’s good gift,
disguised
in shitty wrapping.
      The nurse tells me
      to get dressed
      and leaves the room.
I say “Thank you,”
and get up,
pull my pants and underwear up.

I forgot
to wipe off the lube.
      It’s all over
      my clothes.
Knowing all the waiting rooms I must pass,
I think,
Perhaps the devil purposed.

Sept. 2006