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