For entirely too long, I watch

videos of people eating

raw frozen caribou meat.

Salivating over a bowl of pebble ice,

I wonder why I want to tap my veins

like a maple syrup spout

to slurp the erythrocytes.

I feel like a bald queer Dracula.

My doctor orders labwork.

I drool as the phlebotomist draws my hemoglobin

through a straw-like tube.

Inside I am sure I look at least rare done

and I could go for a good steak.