The theme of February’s meeting of Woking Writers Circle was Hope. And two of our writers came up with poems about their recent Covid vaccinations in Woking:
HOPE IN THE TIME OF COVID
by Heather Cook
I’ve followed signs to ‘Vaccs this way’
on an unkind day in February,
here in Woking where a mutant virus roams.
I have gained entry to the hallowed hall,
joined the chosen ones, muffled, masked and steaming.
I’m number 93.
We sit on distanced, disinfected chairs,
progressing from the holding pen
to shuffle closer to the action.
Here slender creatures swoop and gesture,
kindly shepherds of a stooped, grey flock.
Young and purposeful they lope amongst us,
almost patronising, but not quite.
92 has made it to the desk.
And then it’s me. Another disinfected chair,
to face a masked but twinkly inquisition.
I’m doing well and earning nods; date of birth,
medication, first line of address,
but then I have my moment in the sun.
Allergies? I’m off – nickel, wool –
a teenage doctor reassures,
encourages me towards the inner sanctum
where Stage One immortality will be granted.
Take that, you mutant, cringing in dark alleys!
Spring and second jabs are just 12 weeks away.
THE JAB
by Greg Freeman
Signs tied to lampposts point
the way from the free car park,
past ambulance waiting discreetly,
help you to find the place easily.
Legions of people in hi-vis jackets
with nice, kind smiles bustle
about, wipe tables and chairs,
give you a number, tell you
where to sit. You discover
you’re getting the ‘right’ one,
much to your relief. And at some
moment when you’re not expecting
it, just sitting there, watching
the busying volunteers
you well up, you can’t help it,
tears spring to your eyes,
it takes you by surprise, thinking
about all that’s happened,
the long months that have come
to this. People working together
for the greater good. Our NHS.
This side-effect is common, I believe.
Woking Writers Circle 