You won’t feel a thing,
Said the liar.

When I was a kid,
A viral thief attempted
To turn my heart
Into a train wreck.
It took endless injections
Of white salsa
To save the pump.

Green clad columns
On the road to Vietnam
Ran gauntlets of
High pressure,
Ejaculated antiviral protection
Streaking arms with blood.

Six months later,
On top of hill fifty-three,
Walking targets
Lined up for Gamma Globulin.
Lurch lumbered.
The needle escaped
To stay in place
Bobbing like a
Dashboard clown.
Pale as morning
He went down with a thud
Bouncing like a lead ball.

I was next.
‘god damn!’

Over the years
Nonstop tooth decay drove
Surgical steel,
Numbing spikes long as legs
Into the gum-line.

When a burst appendix
Led to a blockage,
I was fed through tubes
That expanded my hand and arm into
An alien appendage
From another world.

Eventually, a mountain climbing buddy
Needed a bone marrow transplant
For a chance to stay alive.
This needle hating
Former Marine and Vietnam Veteran
Lined up to give instead of receive.

It took another jab
To find out that
City of Hope
Didn’t want the donation.
The count wasn’t high enough.

Bummer!