Decible Poem

Pinpointed

My experience donating plasma

Photo by Mae Mu on Unsplash

Pin.

Pointed
and poked.

Puncturing
concentric
contractions.

Plasma on tap,
stuck like a pig
for that golden
yellow nectar.

Easing into it,
that familiar pump
and dump side hustle
plasma for some cash,
up to twice a week.

First in line at the door,
a regular donor
at my usual chair,
jonesing for the nurses
to give me my quick fix
just enough to get by.

It was an acquired pain
with a distinguishing pinch
from that shiny needle prick —
nurse dug it in really deep,
like plugging a flat tire,
left with a permanent scar
and much more than skin-deep.

As I said, a regular gig,
genetically blessed for it,
nurses would say I have…