Stopping by the Plasma Center on a Tuesday Afternoon
They were known as “The Plasmatics”—
Paisley, Sage, Rosemary, and Tim—
trading blood money for gas money
every Tuesday and Friday,
after Gender Neutrality class.
From Subway left over from various campus events,
to ramen from the campus food bank—
they kept their bodies operating at a good 80%—
enough to know the difference between zim and whazim.
So they sold their cloudy gold by the pints,
earning bonuses and rewards like lab rats,
until the day Tim went numb in the arm
from an inept phlebotomist,
and went to selling his sperm,
thinking himself a modern-day Father Abraham,
leading where the girls could not follow.
Groused, they did,
at the inequality of his ability to make the deposits,
while they were reduced to being the withdrawers.
until they realized the upside of membership in such a bank:
They never had to worry about being overdrawn.