Blood Test Poem by Alistair Graham

He gave her his arm; she
took his blood into her
syringe, filled it,
like a tall glass; wine
tumbling down inside,
rising to the brim.

He placed his lips
anxiously on the rim
(in his mind)
to drink it down,
to test it for himself.

She confirmed
the results would be ready
in five days. "I'll phone you, "
she said, "if that's ok? "

He closed the door
behind him on the way
out. In his mind
he saw his lips,
on the rim of the cup
at the alter in St George's,
the day of his confirmation.