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Poem
I revised a poem written 
January twenty second
last year – two thousand twenty one
regarding gratitude for Medicare 
Insurance to foot the bill
concerning ability to heal
courtesy immune system 
undergoing toe till agency 
or closest approximation thereof   
impossible mission to undergo
one hundred percent protection
against contracting deadly illness,
viz latest epidemic impacting civilization.

Here at Highland Manor Apartments 
Saturday January twenty third,
two thousand and twenty one,
I attest yours truly 
received the first (of four)
inoculations to stave off 
getting COVID-19,
thus mine poetic title 
might not seem absurd.

Wednesday February third 
and Friday October twenty second
same year as above
witnessed himself receiving
second and third injections respectively
to diminish vulnerability
contracting transmissible pathogen. 

Today Wednesday April sixth 
two thousand twenty two
poet of Perkiomen Valley
received the fourth
bringing him up to date 
(or speed if you prefer druggist's lingo) 
with Center for disease 
control recommendations.

Aforementioned stance toward death
(meaning taking preventative measures
to live healthy existence) 
obviously avoid Saturday night fever
regarding desire Stayin' Alive
and most oppressive
when mine mental, physical
and/or spiritual yours truly
takes a (swan) dive
analogous where bajillion bees
swarm from their hive.
Linkedin with well known poem by and by
penned by Emily Dickinson, I didst decry
expressed her relief 
to surender release 
and amazingly gracefully die
"Because I could not stop for Death,"
she aptly crafted verses to comply
reverently, merrily, and gloriously accepting
cessation of existence well nigh
as does one garden variety generic goofy guy.

All natural catastrophes aside,
plus excluding thermonuclear war,
where civilization would get fried
nullifying idea viz,
let conscience be your guide,
nor no place to run and hide
left to grapple with dystopian quandary
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