In the early morning hours
the blood dries from arterial red
to sullen black
on the floor,
on the walls.
in the lounge and the back rooms.

It will be washed down in time,
diluted by water
dipped from a rolling metal bucket,
the mop strings squeezed
of pink soapy fluid,
to find its way,
a winding thin line
down the sewers
to the Gulf,
nourishment for the small
fish and animals
swimming off shore.

The sun rises on another,
winding line,
down the sidewalk,
around the corner,
people of all colors,
gender, and orientation
wait their turn at donation
hours in the early sun.
They bring in their veins
a repudiation