it's probably nothing

they
want to find out
what ails you.
so they photograph
within.
hold still they say,
then run from the room.
you hear the click click click.
later
they hold the photos up
to the light,
and agree that it might
be something.
or maybe not.
they place their hands on
their chins.
adjust their glasses.
shrug and look at one another.
perhaps we'll take a knife
and go in, one says. or
maybe we'll just wait and see.
let's just
forget about it for awhile
and go on
as if all is well.
it's the holidays after all.
you get dressed as they
tell you
not to worry.
you stare up at the wreathe
on the door,
the garlands in green,
the lights
on the window flickering white.
the box marked Christmas
in the corner.
you put
one shoe on after the other.
buttoning your shirt,
clasping your belt.
you put on your coat
and hat,
your scarf.
they pat you on the back
and send you on your way.