In Which A Digit Takes On A New Significance

As we all know, sometimes, for a good cause,
I let some strangers take from me a pint
Of blood. The process still does have some flaws;
The pain, the fainting, in my case the fright
Of needles. Still I do it and I'm proud.
I've given gallons three as of today!
In doing so I'm part of a small crowd.
'Twould be much bigger if I got my way.
It's not so bad, but this time I've a gripe:
The finger that they tested really hurts,
A grave impairment when I have to type,
As right now. It's the one used for alerts
Of one's displeasure, called the "naughty" one.
Is this my punishment for having fun?

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Sonnetize Under The Influence

No sleep today, and down a pint of blood,
Six hours and a half till I can go
Back to my home -- by car! -- no flecks of mud
Upon my naked shins, no telltale glow
Across my face from happy bike commute,
I'm witless, all cognitive dissonance
And everything I hear sounds such a hoot
I giggle like a stoner. Grateful chance
Has me here in a workspace by myself
Lest others think the daughter of the vine
Hath plied me too much with our fav'rite juice.
Across the fishbowl's glass, beyond the shine
Of glare I see the Twins and Tigers duke it out
But can't make out who's winning, but don't pout.

BONUS SONNET: SONNET DARE: In Which I Dis On DEHP

So this bis(2-ethylhexyl)phthalate,
Seems omnipresent for a substance which
Has been suggested may cause neonate
Male babies' poor development. That's some glitch,
As miscarriages, too, occur. It serves
As plasticizer; medical gear needs such,
For blood bags, tubes, to help them hold their curves
And shapes. But is it oh so very much
To use in these something that, should it leach
Into a mother's bloodstream won't result
In men with smaller penises, who'll reach
With lower sperm counts once they are adult
That many fewer eggs? Tell me it's not
A most nefarious Viagra plot!

In Which The Catholics Would Appear To Be Short On Communion Wine

At St. Ann's Parish Hall, up goes my sleeve.
Persuaded once again to trade my blood
For something else, though I do not believe
That mine will save, except one life. A flood
Of fear doth overtake me ere the poke,
Though I donate my blood so often that
A spigot in my arm would be no joke.
My favorite phlebotomist at bat,
I finish up in record time, and make
Direct pressure sieg-heil before quite ten
Swift minutes pass. That's how we work to slake
The thirst for blood. And then, as it's July,
I find I've traded mine for homemade pie.

Making Friends On The Blood Bus

I feel so light; in fact I'm a pint shy,

And learned today's that Kev's a sonnet pimp.

While in the canteen talking to some guy

Who'd joked along and raced me to the crimp

('Twas blood drive day down at the BLM

And I, again, was called in to make up

A short projection). As the two of them

Sat with me while I sipped about a cup

Of juice, my worst friend gleefully did spill

The beans about this blog to Marty, who

Thought that it sounded cool, and said he will

Try looking at these sonnets. If you do,

Then, Marty, you're a cool guy and I'm glad

I bled beside you, and spoke up, I'll add.

Phlebotomy is a Sore Subject Today

Was it my fault, or was it just the stick
That caused my blood donation so to fail,
I wonder, though I know I should not kick
Myself; I know misfortune can prevail.
I woke today and knew I'd do some good,
Would feel today that warm and special pride.
I know deep down it counts some that I would
Have done so, yes, it matters that I tried.
The needle, it refused to stay in place.
My flow of blood is famed for being strong...
Today I left the van and felt disgrace.
No matter what the reason there's one less
Pint to be had, and it's a rotten mess.