Scan centers and doctor's clinics,
Enter only to exit as a relic,
The waiting period is tediously long,
And you realise all your calculations have gone wrong,
Are you from Chennai? Did you work abroad? Is that a cross tattooed on your arm? And what is your job?
Were just some of the questions thrown my way, by the scan doctor's assistant,
The more I chuckled, the more he got persistent,
So I gave in to his curious questioning,
And suddenly realised how I must be threatening,
Blissfully quiet folks,
Who refuse to give me responses or laugh at any of my jokes,
Now my arm hurts,
So I'm just going to give into sleep, before it gets worse.
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