The Shot

It’s the smell of rubbing alcohol,

the cold swab against my skin.

It’s the feeling of anxiety,

stirring, churning, whirling within.

 

It’s the metal seat I’m sitting on,

my goosebumps pricking up.

It’s the pressure – then the prick,

handed water in a cup.

 

It’s the feeling of relief I have,

realizing that I’m done.

It’s the cold air hitting my face and thinking,

"God, that was not fun."