Complete Blood Count
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.
One thought on "Complete Blood Count"
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I love the absurdity of this poem, of watching people online do all kinds of random things and what it means about we the watchers, and the juxtaposition of the absurdity to the reality of doctors ordering labwork.