She climbed the stairs
Two at a time,
The shortest road to
Possibly a shortest queue,
Attempting to avoid the eyes
That would look
At little beyond
Her hourglass figure
And chiseled face.
Eyes still turned.
Deriding
Her attempt
Of visiting
The sanctuary,
Desecrating it
Frivolously.
“Please go through the tests first”
She joined the queue.
Moving with finesse,
Traversing thin crowd
With effortless grace,
Eyes burning her back
And her cheeks.
“Your weight, pale skin,
Please don’t participate”
Her hemo-count ok.
Her weight not-so-ok.
She walked out,
A laughingstock.
She couldn’t be the donor.
Just a size perfect.