blood test

the tiny waiting room is crammed with hope
dark eyes flickering up and down
forms filling themselves out, everyone invisible
with heaviness.

some of us will have it.

there are men and women
gay and straight
stopping blood with swabs
understanding that these, ticking by,
may be their last few minutes
of ignorance.

i touch your arm. something undefined is started between us;
we must take care of each other, one way or another.
one by one they call us by number only and we re-emerge eventually, half-smiling.

all eyes in the room search our faces for signs of the outcome as we step outside.
i can only think of how much i want to leave. how much i don't want to see
them betrayed.