By Duane Anderson
They asked him if he was feeling okay
after having just donated a unit of blood,
being concerned with his well being
knowing that some bodies act differently
with a change of bodily fluids, especially
with the recent loss of a pint of blood.
He said that he thought so,
and then they went into their good cop,
bad cop routine with him,
responding that they would
soon know if he was lying
if his face began to turn pale,
or if he passed out on the donation bed.
It seemed you either felt fine, or you didn’t,
there wasn’t any in-between,
and their concern wasn’t meant to be
part of a guessing game with questions like
who’s on first, or what’s the meaning of life?
In the end, everything turned out well,
another happy ending,
walking out of the room without any assistance
into the lighted hallway to go back to his office,
later riding off into the sunset
as he went home that evening.
Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, Nebraska. He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk, The Blood Drives: One Pint Down, Conquer the Mountains, and Family Portraits.