Enclosure

She asks about claustrophobia for my ocular MRI,
not moving right or left, my head framed in cage-like coil.
We imprison ourselves,
throw our bodies to a point
of no return, some worse than others.

Walk in the plane that resembles a coffin,
doors close, or maybe not then but when the plane lifts off,
wheels sucking up into the plane's belly, trapped.
Or the crime was enough to make the judge think it’s habitual.
I walk through one prison gate, closing, and then another,
often three of them clank steel and metal, or softly
slide electronically, whisper this is where