Four Poems by Duane Anderson

Pic by Steve Johnson



Let’s Bleed

He walked into the room
and said “Let’s bleed.”
It was his time,
the right building, the right room,
right day, right time.
I took his name and information

and sent on his way, to those
who would make his words turn true.
Let’s bleed, after all, it was a blood drive.
Yes, go ahead and bleed,
but I would not be joining him.
I would wait for another time,

when it too was my time to donate again.
As he left, he said “Good night,”
when it was still early morning,
a good night that too would have to wait
until much later when night had
finally poked its head into the room.


The A+ Team

I finally made it as a member on the A+Team,
not something I was trying out for,
or anything I desired to put on my resume,

but made my way up to the top rung,
where now I was requested by name
to work at certain events, wondering if they

would they provide us with special uniforms?
The elite squad of volunteers,
a secret squad known only but to a few.

The A-Team name had already been used,
so it was assigned as the A+Team, one cut above.
Was I a Hannibal, a Face, a B.A. or a Murdock?

It was nice being part of a special team,
but then, there was also a downside,
that of getting more phone calls and emails

to volunteer for events, something I never
minded sharing this opportunity with others.
Pick a number from a hat,

the number one, always showing up,
the only number in the hat.
I win again, I think?


The Case for Wearing No Make-up

If I would have known I was
going to be interviewed on television
at the holiday blood drive,

I might have shaved and
wore different clothes that morning,
Was the camera angle wrong as I looked

at the interviewer instead of at the camera?
I would say yes, it was pointed at me,
but they were the experts,

and no one told me where I should look.
I only wished that the interview hadn’t taken place,
but someone twisted my arm, and I gave in,

something a telemarketer would be in awe of,
an easy mark.
Now, left sitting with the interviewer,

the cameraman standing in front
for a live morning broadcast,
followed with a taped interview shown on

the evening news. Take it or leave it,
a comedy or horror performance,
left for your own interpretation


Pep Rally

Dozens of workers left their offices and
headed to the elevator, getting off on the
first floor as if they were being herded like
steers on a cattle drive, but no one was being

corralled into the lobby to check in with me
for the blood drive that was being held.
Each one kept on walking, passing me by
as if I didn’t exist, more than likely going to

a meeting in another area on the floor.
I kept hoping there was a possibility they were
attending a pep rally where cheer leaders
performed their best cheers attempting

to convince a few additional people to
join in on the blood drive, but as they came
out from their meeting, each one headed back
to their desk. No one came over to see me,

not even to say hello. I guess wearing
a clown costume wasn’t quite the right
attention getter, and the only one who
looked like a fool, was me.

To read more poems by Duane Anderson, click: 

About the Author

Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, NE.  He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of  ‘On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk,’  ‘The Blood Drives: One Pint Down,’ and ‘Conquer the Mountains.’