Universal

The warehouse needs to know if I'll break.

The nurse has a pen and a clipboard

and a way of looking through my shirt.

I open my wallet to the clear window

where the paper is starting to peel.

O-Negative. The card is soft at the edges,

the red cross fading into the white.

It feels like a secret I shouldn't have kept,

this small proof that I can give

and never get anything back.