#377: Poem on April 3, 2021

I must say that the prompt for the day on NaPoWriMo left me feeling uninspired. Actually, it was not a bad idea, something about making yourself a deck of cards, a “personal universe deck,” and drawing cards from it to inspire a poem. It just seemed too labor-intensive for me today. So I will be reaching into the reserves already filed away in the personal universe deck that is my brain. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the vaccination experience. So that’s where I’m headed today. I’ve captured only a small part of it here. Could be the start of a series. IDK.

Poem on April 3

I’ve had my shots.
Both of them.
The first one hurt
going in and my arm
was sore for a day.
The second one
was astonishingly
painless, but later
the chills came,
the creep, the fog,
the overpowering
desire to sleep.
I missed a work day
for that one, was able
before the effects
plunged me into a stupor
to forge an elaborate
interactive slideshow
my students could
do in my absence.
Down for the count,
as they say. And most
everyone says it, to
some degree, that
they were down
for the count.
A small price, yes,
for the security,
the peace of mind,
the near assurance
that you will be safe.
Nothing changes, really,
in the short run:
I’m still wearing the mask
when I go out, still
keeping my distance;
I might be safe but
other’s might not be,
so we carry that
with us wherever we
go. We long for a
social exchange
between vaccinated
friends, when we may
not have to mask,
and we might even
be able to touch one
another. I don’t miss
handshakes, really,
but I could sure use
a hug from someone
who is not my wife
or my son or the dogs.