I lay there with my head in a cage,

And pray she hits the vein the first try.

The elastic band is cutting into my bicep,

And I already know she's going to miss.

"Pump your hand in a fist," she says,

But I can see the self-doubt on her face.

She warns me that it's about to pinch,

But the pinch is nothing to me nowadays.

I heard her mutter and scowl in frustration,

And then I felt, inside my arm, as she fished,

Dug, dived, dipped and twisted the needle.

She pulls the needle out of my retching elbow,

And moves the damned elastic to my other arm.

I see her fidget and furrow her brow in concentration,

And I know she's going to miss--two more times.

I'm not crying from the pain,

I'm crying because I'm not a human pincushion.