the clog poem

yesterday it didn´t go alright
the blood had thickened in the vein
so it wasn´t flowing through the needle

the nurse was apologetic- but twice
she hit nerves and i howled in pain
she didn´t seem affected at all

more nurses came around the bed
to look at the grotesquerie, the needle
prodding deeper and deeper into the arm

and the blood didn´t come out
i felt fallow, a horse´s carcass
under a layer of frost

to the youngest nurse, who was watching it all
with an amused smile on her lips
i said it is a show for sadists and there is a price:

a little piece of your pretty earlobe.
she looked revolted. Now the other nurse went frantic
with the needle, loosing her patience.

i knew i was´t going to die from that
but it was like someone had placed
a black garbage bag over my head

and i was in a panic. Then i stopped
believing in god for a second. but maybe
i had never really believed anyways.

i thought of little children somewhere palying,
somewhere, laughing: they who knew nothing
of what can happen to the poor flesh in this world,

to the soul... suddenly the blood came. it spurted
from the tube into the bed sheets as if somebody
has sucked it out of me through a straw

everybody breathed more easily