Irony is
having blood withdrawn
Every morning
For further tests
To determine my anemia
Every morning I lie
in my cramped hospital bed
Thinking this time
The ‘blood nurse’ will pass me by
But to no avail
For like a blood thirsty vampire
She wheels her wagon
Full of assorted blood letting paraphernalia
And I offer little resistance
Mesmerised by her cold fingers
Latexed against possible infections
As she feels for a plumb vein
And sinks the hypodermic
I await the quick jab
The ‘prick’ that marks her extraction
She’s quick, brisk, officious
soon all specimens are collected
And she’s off again
Seeking another victim
Who would have thought?
Dracula’s ancestors
Would continue to roam the world
In the guise
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem