the fat vein in my arm,
blue and long, then sticks
the needle in.
she's drawing
out a pint of blood
for safe keeping.
putting it in the bank
in case i ever need it again.
when it's over,
the blood drained,
she asks me, as if i'm a child,
if everything is okay.
i say yes, then she hands
me an oatmeal cookie
with raisins.
i hate raisins, but i eat
it anyway.
though hardly a fair trade.
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