Got to where
we needed to go
but no farther.
Satisfaction wasn’t there
when we got there; neither
was peace nor any other 

What was there? The rattle
of an empty wheelchair
in the wayback of the SUV
and bags upon bags of clothes
never to be worn again.  

Knew we’d get there
hoping for denial,
anger, bargaining,
depression, acceptance;
all those long-debunked 
phrases, all those pseudo-
scientific words.

What was there, what is there instead?
Numb awakening every night at 2:35 AM
to images of the wheelchair rolling
slowly down its accustomed hall
with its customary passenger
dressed in all the usual Patriots finery
he could wear;

nothing else.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

4 responses to “Wheelchair

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