Putting
your foot down in a wheelchair
(For
Dom)
I rightly put a stop to
all the things I said I’d do
that were piling up and up no dinner
it was the hands
fell off my body clock
it’s all emotions image aspiration here in
crippletown
where I’m holed up
avatar of some survivalist in Idaho
sexless geezer
bottomless odd sock drawer
rations to survive where I live
my place - transactions - each package
distinct
wrapped against seepage
greasproof like the sandwiches your mum
sent to school
more hermetic even - the fat Dorito love
UHT and shrink wrapped that my fucked up
fingers
can’t get open
I get a chin
position – up.
My body hits the ground tonight like Jack
Dempsey dead in New York
stuff me please like Phar Lap,
it’ll be good
I’ll get around.
Oh Kerri. Not to detract from the seriousness of your poem, but it brings back some old memories. In 1974 I fetched up as a medical orderly at the Austin Hospital in Melbourne. In Ward 17, which was the spinal rehab unit. I was 20 years old. and even then more a slightly sinful poet than an orderly worker -- but for 6 months, in the course of my duties, I made many friends with the people there. Bikey gangsters, teachers, clerks, teenagers and (very likely) poets. A perfect physical specimen at the time, I never felt less like a Hercules or an Adonis. But before I was sacked for giving a paraplegic woman a shoulder massage, I was taught to dance in a wheelchair. A lasting image of us all rocking away to some fine AC/DC. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI like this. Close to home for me, too. Spot on affect and tone, not patronising; terrific imagery.
ReplyDelete