“Fixing”

Hello, he said,
as he restitched my spine.
I thought I’d be seeing you again,
so focused on your work.

Pain flared through my arms as he tested certain nerves.

You’d be a nice kid, he mused,
if only you could learn to relax sometime.
Your back is very tense.
(My back was very tense.)

He removed a punctured kidney,
examined it,
brushed off a bit of dirt with his fingertips
and slotted in a shiny-new replacement
before sewing the hole shut.

Tsk tsk, he said,
you really should watch out for those penetrating shells,
as he picked fragments of one out of my leg with a scalpel.
Such a bother to remove.

Are you certain you won’t be wanting the full upgrade package, he asked,
logarithmic strength enhancement for pennies on the dollar.

He removed one of my eyes from its socket,
peering into it and then popping back into place.

No, I said,
because you already charge me too much for basic repairs,
and besides, that stuff kills your sense of taste.
He shrugged, scrubbing soot out of my lungs with a sponge.