The Shot

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The Shot


The night before I told her 

how it all would be

okay. That afterwards

we'd feast at Droop Scoop,

where spoons of every color

rattled in their cups, cheering

her name. I told her 

how it was needed to cast

the sickness far away,

was for her good. I didn’t say it 

wouldn’t hurt because we both knew 

it would. That morning I left

for school, then Gracie called

at the bell to testify how

she sat there on the sheet,

legs dangling and anything but fine,

tears mixing with snot 

like vinegar and wine.

But she turned her face away

and took the shot.


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