The Dreaded Doctor's Visit
Other people are chatting.
I am not.
Some are pretending to read.
Ha! As if you could
In a doctor’s office.
I am sixty-six, and still do not want to be here.
Because of my fear of a prick, a shot, an I.V.
It takes a long time to get over these things.
I am not over them yet.
They call my name. Crap!
I just sat down, take someone else
I silently think.
But partly glad that I will not have to dread it any longer.
Everyone else looks up, relieved it is me being led and not them.
A few smile along my route.
I want to stick out my tongue, but I catch myself.
I head in to meet my doom, and face the lying weight machine.
I see the doctor. She mentions pills.
Then she remembers my stomach problems, so she cheerfully says
“It’s a shot for you!”
Ouch!
Oh, you’re a bleeder, the nurse says. “A big bleeder.”
Come here, and let me show you, I think.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
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