The hoverers

They come with hovering wavering eyes
At the vampires beckoning they
From the lonely stump on the knotted hill
The creed around display
An urgency,a willingness
A true indignity
Just give us some of your precious blood
Bottles numbering three

And it’s always when the patients
Weak
And suffered pain that day
These homers of the plasma
Walk their dreary way
Bruisers of the valiant skin
And of course refuse to pay.

Written in Luton Hospital