Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Blood Test

She pricks into my vein
with a flimsy excuse:
”Let’s see if your blood
has thinned enough.”
Why explain? Did she think
the strain would be too much?
She couldn’t unhinge me if she tried
since this blood in me has been tested,
to a sickening extent,
for its clogging potential
and snapped out of course
to flag its zigzag flow,
spilling it all over
the tracks I’ve ever tottered.
As to its short-sighted daring,
no vial can hold enough of it.