My blue faux leather kline is warm under my butt.
I’m down 650 CC’s of emigrated blood.
The remainder is swirling up a plastic tube attached to my arm.

Plasma donation has a sterile facade.
Rude nurses intake for sweet phlebotomists
Beige curtains in front of soft cumulus clouds.
Cheap gift cards compensate for saved lives.

A progress bar ticks along.
Now the blood plasma is done separating.
The platelets and cells start to return.
Yellow nectar replaced by cold IV fluid.

Waiting at the bus stop,
The clouds seem a little flatter
The bench feels a little colder
A 5 tonne bus approaches,
an AI generated picture of a lady plastered on its side

I close my eyes, imagining jumping in front of it
Splatter of pink saline on the asphalt
Fuel line hooked up to my arm
I decide against it,
and when my eyes are open again
the bus is kneeling right at my feet.