On the Anniversary of my Vaccination

I’m trying to fit into my life as best I can, but it’s increasingly difficult. They’ve not only shrunk the size of the seats for all of us passengers—secretly, and without a front-page investigative report in The New York Times—but things are also catching up to me on a personal basis. And so almost everything is at once too active and equally as passive, as the great poet, The Pied Piper of Hamlin, said it would be. 

Instead of being the leader, I follow the crumbs falling from chocolate croissants. The bakery is closed by the time I arrive but people are already lined up around the block to claim their fix of lard, sugar and other protein-free additives. Among those in line, I find myself in the silent majority that doesn’t like to wait. And so I decide to bolt, to head for those greener pastures promised in Scripture.

About halfway home, still in limbo and mild shock, the small BAND-AID on my right shoulder beginning to peel of its own accord, I feel a bit faint. I should pull over to the side of the road, but I don’t; instead, I follow the flow of traffic toward The Promised Land where the hillsides are holding out bright bouquets of yellow jonquils and other congratulatory forms of flora and fauna. I’ve survived, I’m a Survivor!

As happy now as a a handful of pain pills, out of the car and on dry land, I collect my reward: coffees all around and a salt bagel with a smear. Sipping hot coffee I count my blessings, the luckiest man in the world. From this point forward, if I keep being lucky, I’ll be able to enjoy a series of near-life experiences in dark theaters, a dentist’s chair, and the check-out line at the supermarket. And if I’m not lucky I’ll find a way of living in style, with the idea that the end is always near.

Handheld jonquils in front of unfinished painting. “On the Anniversary of my Vaccination”, February 19, 2022.