Go with the Flow
Blood flows,
knows
where it should go,
sometimes goes
where it wants. Take my PFO.
Please.
That hole in my heart
that lets blood flow
where it shouldn’t
sent a clot to my brain,
the strain minor.
This time.
Or the bruises
on my arms.
Everywhere.
Spatial orientation
gone to hell
since that TIA.
The blood thinner
to stop those clots?
It whispers to my blood.
There’s fresh air
beyond that skin.
Go for it!
And minor cuts, or
just plain scratches?
Let’s just say
I’ve used more band aids
in the last year
than I have
in the previous 69.
Like I said,
blood knows
where it wants to go.
It’s been a busy day, and this is a last minute post for a-poem-a-day for April. I wrote it earlier today and read it at a poetry reading this evening at Barb’s Books in Belle, Missouri.
Special Thanks to Osage Arts Community, Jason Ryberg, & John Dorsey.
Shared with Day Eight at napowrimo.net (off prompt)
rivrvlogr 
That sounds like a nightmare…
You look well, and long may that continue, Ken…
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Thank you. All things considered, I’m in a good place.
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Glad to hear it, Ken…
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If I had a magic wand, I’d wave it at you, bro.
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Thanks, Ron.. Plenty of people have it worse. I just go about my business and keep my pharmaceuticals at hand.
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I like the poem’s attitude!
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Thanks, Liz.
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You’re welcome, Ken.
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I adore how this poem just glides smoothly from beginning to the end.
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It’s greased by hindsight. 😉
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My old friend from our young twenties now is in danger from clots. Laughs and calls himself the bleeder. Don’t scratch me, kitty. Not my dog’s claws, either. Your whisper from the tempting air is delicious ware to beware. HAPPY SPRINGTIME EASTER ! ! !
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Thanks, Daniel. May you know fertility at all the appropriate times. 😉
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