Pain

Sitting in the room,
watching the 69 year old man cringe,
as the phlebotomist,
stabbed him,
for the fourth time.

by M. Sakran

Editor’s Note: Sometimes a poem needs very few lines to make a point.

Every thirty eight seconds

Every thirty eight seconds,
the chemotherapy pump,
cries out,
as another shot,
is fired.

by M. Sakran

Editor’s Note: Though the form of this poem is not strictly haiku, the simple, spare lines carry great weight.