The Golden Ticket

The vaccine is no trouble my relatives and ex-friends say so thick. They live in Iowa, a state that had Covid-19 shots right away. Just go to the Hy-Vee store and they stick you quick. Oh, how I wished then that I once again lived in Iow-ay. The vaccine? Oh, sure, I’ve had mine she says. Government employee. They just told her appointment time. There were eight of us sent to Timber Taz. We knew each other, and did not have to stand in line. The vaccine? Oh, sure. It came to us a month ago or so. Someone came door to door and said give me your arm. We didn’t find out until later it was college kids though. None of us died, so I guess there ain’t no harm. I thought I was the only person on earth who could not get it. Six hours on the phone, and sixteen begging emails didn’t help me. Kansas vaccinated all teachers but me, because I did not fit. I work across the river in Kansas City, Missouri, you see. Assigned to two grade schools, I deal with 912 students each week. I felt like I had fallen into a hole down a storm drain under a thicket. Still the rivaling states could not help me; did not care I was getting weak. When I finally got this shot, I knew I had gotten the “golden ticket”.