When I had cancer about 3 years ago,
I had to have my blood drawn by phlebotomists
every week for blood tests.
The phlebotomists were always females,
and they marveled over my veins, as if my
veins were visual pheromones that were
magnetically intoxicating to
phlebotomists of the female persuasion.
Had I only known that when I was younger,
I wouldn’t have wasted money on fancy
men’s colognes like Paco Rabanne.
I would have made it a point to hang out
where female phlebotomists did.
I would have worn short sleeve shirts,
or long sleeve shirts rolled up to my elbows,
to advantageously show off my alluring veins
as a surefire way of wooing them for their love.
Bob Boyd