I have the privilege.
The knowledge that I have access to something that millions of people do not.
The knowledge that getting it means that someone else will not.
The want to ride out the storm, my immunity intact, nothing extra added. For I have had no reason to get tested.
Yet with privilege comes responsibility.
My appointment, my privilege, my responsibility, is set for later today.
And I hate myself for it.
*Note* A friend helped me rethink these sentiments. She reminded me that it was my job not my race or social status that gave me this privilege. That I am an essential worker, and on the front lines. These words, and the knowledge that more and more people are gaining access to this vaccine (including my mother who did not have access when I wrote this poem) have helped quiet my inner rebellion. For now at least.