First Dose

or, a year in a moment

I’m sitting in between two black polyester curtains in a CVS somewhere east of New York

Staring at a 4 x 6 card with my name on it

Next to a sequence they labeled a Pfizer lot number

All in soft blue pen

I haven’t stared at a non-screen in so long

Maybe that’s why my eyes are starting to tense

And it’s increasingly hard to lift my left arm

Or perhaps that’s my psyche

Speeding up the side effects, a cruel joke

That doesn’t fail to make me laugh

Because I just got a shot

From a tiny syringe.

It didn’t hurt,

But somehow my eyes started to mist

And so I coughed quickly to avert the kind gaze of the nurse

Who probably — hopefully—thought I was just

Reacting to the sting.

In between these curtains, though, I can weep silently

Muted by the soundtrack of others sitting similarly

Crunching chips and speaking in rapidfire Spanish

Peppered with the mechanical beeps of the announcement system

“Help needed in the deodorant section”

After 15 minutes I’ll leave

Eyes still a bit wet

Head and arm a bit achy

With my 4x6 card and a promise to return in three weeks

To do it all over again

I didn’t think there would be confetti

But I did think that I would feel less whelmed

Both over and under

It was so quick

After so long