The Sharp End
The approach was calm and efficient,
from car park to waiting department,
the checking process muffled by masks,
the only barrier to questions she asks.
His voice was quiet and reassuring,
concerns over allergy history, preparing,
a gentle guide to the area clinical,
waiting in the sparse treatment cubicle.
Which arm? The masked operative demanded,
the nearest limb was the right-handed,
the skin was duly wiped and dried,
with alcohol I’d prefer to have imbibed.
Then to the moment much anticipated,
to some causing nerves to be greatly agitated,
a glance revealed a substantial needle,
an operative wielding with expression gleeful.
Bundled away to await the reaction,
fifteen minutes to reveal an affliction,
then to arrange a second acceptance,
of this required anti-Covid performance.
© David L Atkinson January 2021