Vaccination
Whatever mix of proteins poured
With that inoculation draught
Drunk by my vein, not thirsted for,
But sipped in the subtle rhythms
Of pulse beat, of embodiment,
Moulds to the clay that forms myself,
I know only shameful nothing,
And in my unproud ignorance
Is only a child’s solemn trust
In all that must be, for all good.
Copyright © John Blake | Year Posted 2021
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