At the Clinic
for an ex-friend
Like the killer in a Hitchcock thriller, you watch
every move of my blind eyes, every step I take
with my white cane. Sleeve rolled up, I’m more
than ready for the shot in the arm. The moat that’ll
keep the virus from invading my castle. But just
as the threat of disease is eased, you come out
of the shadows and move in for the kill. “She is here
to get the vaccine,” you say, as the nurse comes near,
before I can begin to speak, “here are her papers,”
you continue as you and the nurse look at each other
ignoring my gaze. I’d like to pillage and plunder your
insides. Why not, I think. You’ve ransacked my pronouns.
You’ve plundered my “I”: smashed it into a “she.” “She’s
fine,” you say after I’ve been vaxxed, before I can say
how I feel. Your theft of my “I” has gone viral.
Kathi Wolfe ’78 M.Div. “At the Clinic” Copyright © 2021 by Kathi Wolfe.
Used by permission of the poet.