sending a nodule to the lab

it's a circular

wound, dime size,

one made by the slender

scalpel

held

by Norma,

my dermatologist.

she's bored.

i can see it in her eyes.

it's a long

day already

at three p.m.

she sighs,

after sticking the needle

in.

then ten minutes

later returns

to cut and slice

away

what's risen from my

skin.

she puts the piece of me

into a little

cute cup

with an orange lid,

i see my name on the side,

then she wraps the wound,

before leaving,

poorly, i might add,

never to be seen again.

i look down as

blood fills my shoe,

running down my leg.

it spills onto the Formica

floor of green 

and white tiles.

i wait

for someone to return

to wrap it tighter.

i want to yell out,

clean up in aisle six, but

don't.

i'm surprised though at

how beautifully crimson

the blood is.

i make a note of it

to write about later.