the blood bank
wants
your blood.
they lure you in with
cookies,
a small cup of juice.
a sticker for your lapel.
the kind
soft spoken nurse
assures you
with a smile,
that everything will be alright,
everything is fine,
she says it might pinch
a little
then slides
the silver needle into
a fat slippery vein,
pulling out the crimson
life that runs through
you.
saying that the life
you save, may
be your own. you like
the sound of those
words and will
find a place for them
later, or now.
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