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.

That is,
until they realized the upside of membership in such a bank:
They never had to worry about being overdrawn.

Conquer by Confusion

Grammarcity Park had two regions—
the rotten North Egg,
and the equally rotten South Egg—
hatched by two gangs known as
“The Pros” and “The Seven Cons”
(the latter also known as “The Fanboys”).

Though such activity was criminal
in this dark city—
overpopulated with commas,
nightly knifings with em dashes,
and unclean colons—
little was done to muck out
this den of corruption.

One night of Celtic Thunder,
the Fanboys decided the only way
to defeat the South Pros
was by appealing to the Chicago-style
gubbermint,
and, in the name of equality,
forcing them to become
gender-neutral,
thus stripping them of their
individuality—
the core of their identities.

And so, while the Pros were trying
to figure who was who
and what end was up,
“The Fanboys” band played on,
still making connections.