Previous (I decade ago) poetry:
On the streets of Chicago, I will confide,
The uneven sidewalks made for, at the least, a risky ride.
Carrie pushed me in my wheelchair as I held my nephew on my lap.
We crossed many streets and went to many stores, including Gap.
One time on the sidewalk, trying to cross a chaotic street,
Traveling in my wheelchair turned out to be a devastating feat.
Out I flew and slammed onto the rock-hard street, landing on my right,
It happened so fast – it seemed to me, faster than the speed of light.
There I lay in the street, stunned and unable to move,
Strangers swarmed the baby first before my plight would improve.
Soon after, in front of the Holiday Inn,
What do you know? It happened AGAIN.
With throbbing knees and a body, beat up and sore,
The bellman attended to Carrie and her son, but me? He chose to ignore.
Feeling lower than dirt and unimportant and such,
I felt the aforementioned things much.
Staff at the hotel disregarded me, like I wasn’t even there,
Perhaps because of a little contraption I sat in – I call it my wheelchair.
Do people fear what they don’t know, like my method of motion?
The reason for their terrible treatment I have no concrete notion.