Down Here

 

So here I am again

sat on four unwelcome wheels,

a seat soft, but lacking,

waiting for a porter to

push away my independence.

Sabotage my thoughts,

transport me to where

my vision of life will be sliced in half,

my voice instantly lowered,

sometimes distorted.

 

The sign up ahead needs reading.

I am whisked away before

my request can be formed.

The rough pavement delivers

shock waves through my legs,

abrupt emergency stops,

my vision ahead cut short

by turbulent turns.

 

I am a vacant body

removed from affairs up high,

a subject of occasional compassion and need,

but mostly an invisible carcass.

Down here I am a forgotten prisoner,

baggage with no destination,

a broken machine with no manual.

Down here I am a solitary moving figure

enduring a journey whilst falling.

Background: I wrote this when I first needed a wheelchair.

This poem was first published on Runcible Spoon poetry and prose webzine

Copyright ©&℗ 2020 Julie Stevens (Jumping Jules)

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