she’s sickened
by syringes
she’s scared
of shots
she would much rather
have the flu
than a needle in her arm
his calluses pock
the landscape of his skin,
where the needles went in yesterday,
today, and every future day
he lives a different life
from she,
dependent on the hollow metal tubes
breaking his skin to
enhance his non-functional body...
and she watches him:
slide the syringe in,
inject his insulin,
and carefully
draw the needle out