Wednesday, September 10, 2014

After

legs that can't move but fingers that ache,
arms two-two shuffle when my body quakes,
toes that itch but can't reach to scratch,
stuck buried stuck sitting in this patch.

monitors and screens show me the world,
a bike in the background, wheels that curled,
spinning, the spinning held my life in check,
now too much effort to lift my neck.

when I need fresh batteries I call for help,
as schooled as fish, as docile as kelp;
everything's faded since I took that chance,
riding so that you couldn't but glance

wince when I hit that bump,
shout when I hit that jump,
scream when I took that dump,
cry when I couldn't get up;

wish when I hit that bump,
cheer when I hit that jump,
pray when I took that dump, 
break when I couldn't get up.

spinning, the spinning held my mind in check,
when once too busy to ever rubberneck,
now enthroned in wheelchair access,
all antiseptic and white plastic.

when I need a recharge, there's no other way
than lift my voice and call not okay;
covered in sweat tears blood tape excess...
all antiseptic and white plastic.

to feel the wind rushing past my head,
to feel like everyone's in my stead,
to feel the rain soaking me through and through,
to feel at peace, alone, with you,

to ride on this little red thing,
lights and metal and rubber and string,
breaking the boundaries once kept me in check...
now bound up in white and antiseptic.

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