Hello.
As it’s National Poetry day, I thought I’d share this. I remember how the horrific consequences of the Thalidomide drug made heroes of young children. While we are fully entitled to bemoan our lost abilities, I am always grateful that my childhood was uninhibited by physical disability.
Best wishes, Steve.
Morning Break.
What makes a perfect time?
A quiet moment,
Sitting by the window
With tea on the table,
Watching the rain fall.
Nibbling the corners of a biscuit
Delicately removing the chocolate.
Then bravely holding the trimmed remains
Soaking in the sweet brown brew,
Before swiftly placing the soft mass
Into my waiting mouth.
But for now,
I wait.
I am not by the window
Where brother and sister sit
Happily disintegrating theirs
Into a chocolate mess.
I wait for Father
To lift the cup
Slowly to my lips.
With every tilt,
A sigh of disappointment
Disguised with a look elsewhere.
A frown,
Pained by guilt,
As each piece of biscuit is broken up
And fed between my dry lips.
In a fit of hope
I reach out.
The cup falls.
Father gives his smile
And wipes the little brown pond,
Spreading before me.
I’ve seen him,
Shaking his head
As I try to play
With stunted arms
And withered fingers
When will he see
Beyond this sentence of anguish?
I can forgive him
For my shackles of impairment
I can forgive him
For the times when I sit
And wait
What cannot be forgiven
Is the stigma of difference.
For I am just like the others
I am both strong and weak
When will he see?