Back bent, frail,

in a wheelchair rolling

towards oncoming traffic,

my feelings haven’t posted bail yet.

A drizzle feels like hale.

The feast served to us grows stale,

but you’re hands hold the grips

furtive.

I keep pointing the way; I could make it on my own,

but we’re worth it.


Cover Art: Susanna Heller, Lost in Thought, 2013. Oil on canvas, 50″x33″

4 responses to “Pusher”

  1. Your poem brings to mind scenes from a newer movie, Everything Everywhere All At Once. The Grandpa must be pushed in a wheelchair in several scenes, or escorted. And each time is some of my fav acting moments— assisting dutifully.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, EF. Lately, I’m not passing up on a single call for help. A bit exhausting, but my heart is so full every day. ❤️

      Like

  2. Yes, I witness this every day in our streets, some younger than me; is this what the future holds? I love the phrase ‘my feelings haven’t posted bail yet’ but have no idea what it means —

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, John. Here in Thailand, I think emotions are incarcerated, and it’s hard to express them or even release them, at least that was my thought when crafting this poem. Thank you for stopping by.

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