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That Horrible Shot
George, Age 13, Windsor, ON

Is it the day? Oh, I hope not!
Yes, it is! The day I get my shot!

I crawl to the car, in great fear.
Oh, the time is very near!

My knuckles are white. My knees keep knockin’,
But mom and dad just keep on talking.’

Don’t they care that I will die?
In a few hours, in my grave I will lie.

I arrive at the office, almost crying.
Shouldn’t I sign a will or something?

The doctors continue on their usual paces.
Oh, I wish they would wipe those smiles off their faces!

I can see it in the news (but I hope not):
“8 year-old boy dies of flu shot”.

We go into the room, Doc says it’s okay,
But I wish he’d say something he has to say.

Like, “It’s okay, kid. You’ve been good.
You’ve been kind, nice, responsible like the way you should.”

“You’ve lived a great life, my good, small friend.
But, sadly now, this is the end.”

I close my eyes, I wait to die,
But strangely, I don’t yelp or cry.

Come on, I think, hello, anyone?
Am I dead? Is it already done?

I open my eyes. My bro asks, “Did it hurt?”
I laugh and say, “Whoever thought it would?”

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