My Second Shot

My second shot, I’m fortunate to write,
was painless and no hassle to obtain.
The venue wasn’t crowded and the chain
of volunteers was organized and tight,
directing us with smiles masked but bright,
conducting an inoculation train –
my second shot.

My arm is sore, I’m tired, I feel light
in energy. It’s nothing to complain
about – a grumble wouldn’t be germane
or accurate. My age meant expedite
my second shot.


This entry was posted in Aging, Coronaverse, Health, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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