Violins play from my phone
I breathe in time
I hate this part of the week
but this must be done
I disinfect the area
ready a second swab if needed
Pull the cap from the injection pen
and rest it on my thigh
I breathe in
grip soft fabric
and press down
healing fire fills my leg as I moan
I hold it down
count
then examine the leg
for bleeding from the injection site
I sit
stare
sigh
and dispose of the pen
I found this poem to be very poignant and heart-wrenching. Even the title is ironic…what is routine for you in this poem is anything but routine nd normal. I love the dichotomy between the violins playing the the injection. Vivid!