Median Cubital

She pressed two fingers there

to find the vein—

not hard, just certain,

the way you'd test a peach.

I looked at the ceiling.

A water stain in the shape of nothing.

The needle went in clean.

Four minutes, she said. Less, even.

On the train home I noticed

the cotton ball had shifted,

the tape pulling at the fine hairs,

a small oval going purple underneath—

nobody's fault,

just the body recording what happened to it.

I kept my sleeve down.

I watched the platform lights go dark between stations

and thought about how long it had been

since anyone touched me there

without needing something from it.