When he starts taking a medicine

to treat the symptoms of the symptoms,

I learn how to hurt him

the way my mom learned how

to remedy problems with pain

as a physical therapist.

He designates Sunday afternoons

to this tryst, chooses the flesh

where I point the needle.

A’ soft spot is a safe cushion:

once to the side of his belly button,

every time after alternating thighs.

Walled in a plastic tube, the prick

waits for me to push

from the top; two clicks signal

contact and conclusion. On his skin,

a maroon dot we soon lose sight of.

It isn’t that the shots actually hurt –

built for easy application, they can’t

be more than a pinch. This

is merely practice. (I tell myself)

This has to be the easy part

before we have to accept

how much worse

it can get.

Author Name with bio and links.