Phlebotomist (Not For The Squeamish) Poem by Mark R Slaughter

My antecubital vein -
I surrender it now unto you:
Feel free to aim your great lance -
Here's now hoping you know what to do!

That needle's wide and so blunt:
Will my vein stand the might of that stab?
She yanks the tourniquet tight:
Here it comes - will I faint? One-two jab!

Oo-agh! Oo-ahg! Oo-oo-ahg!
Flipping missed! Now I'm out on the floor.
But after clearing my head,
I then ease my poor self through the door.

‘Now steel your mind - don't be coy! '
That old vampire just screeches with chill,
‘You moved your arm silly man!
Now just sit in the chair and be still! '

She glared with glee through dark eyes,
As she poked at my poor little vein:
‘Aha! A tramline I see -
Now then, stay still and just take the pain.'

Then swoosh! The needle drives through,
But slides out of my arm as I yell:
‘That's air you're drawing, not blood! '
What to do with this butcher from Hell?

Her face was wild with crazed joy -
She just wanted to torture me now:
At least my mind told me so:
Dominatrix was she; blood-lust cow!

By now my face was deep grey,
As I pondered upon this mad farce:
Aha! I know what to do…
And I rammed a syringe up her a**se!


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009