The needle slips in,

my body’s alarmed.

Vital fluid oozes

through a tube

fills a vial, then

another, another.

I am lighter by a

few molecules, but

more than that, too.

A bit of spirit has left .

The vials move

in a carrier,

down a hall, on a cart,

free of my veins and

glad for the adventure.

They spread their knees

on command,

wantonly surrender

all the secret pleasures

of a life plagued by

carbohydrates.

Betrayed, I say nothing.

My doctor ignores

the most interesting

mystery of the blood, too.

How my nose comes from

a man who’s grandfather

was a Viking. How

he wrote poetry

after every battle.

How he fought with

no thought to the future,

his blood, and others’

dripped on the grass,

on the page there,

in the shade.

And he felt lighter.

 

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