Arms on the Battlefield

Like so many Americans these days we’ve become veritable pincushions.

First it was the flu shot in my arm to thwart the latest influenza.

Then came vaccinations one and two to ward off the creepy crawling Charles Manson-like COVID.

Yesterday I took another needle for pneumococcal pneumonia and again my brave arm is wounded and sore from this injection battlefield.

Next my warfront, battle-weary doc wants me vaccinated for shingles, which he said won’t kill me, but would torment me with a painful rash causing pins and needles.  More needles!

Then I’m to take a tetanus shot as he warned that’s another killer on the loose we must ban from our bodies now targeted by so many ruthless enemies.

This morning my brave, undaunted foxhole wife, Rita, was my emergency medic.  She tweezed a tiny spec of glass out from under my big right toe that had been pinching me all night.  Probably I had picked up the sneaky, prickly lodger from one of our daily beach patrols. 

Yes, these days Rita and I are like sentries on guard.   Whenever suspicious pedestrians approach us, we pop on our facemasks and circle around them suspiciously. 

Yes, we’re at war! 

It’s not pretty.  It’s painful.  And the only arms we have to fight with are our arms! 

I can’t wait for that armistice. 

There are so many other things we could be doing for armusement!