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If I had a friend in a wheelchair

She would roll down the grassy hill to the side of my building and over to where I keep the cigarette butts, by the sliding glass door and the folding chair where I look over my kingdom talking to rabbits and deer, watching the grass grow and the blossoms flutter to the ground like snowflakes. Maybe my wheelchaired friend could get the two little twin boys who live next door; the ones with the brand new matching red bikes; to push her.

She could could knock on my door with a stick. She could use her fist, but c'mon, if you could use a stick and one is handy - it should be used. I may come outside and we would sit by the garbage cans; she in her wheelchair and me in my folding chair. I'd offer a smoke and say, "you can throw the butt anywhere."

She may come inside. There are no stairs, but it would be a process and there's nothing to see inside. A lot of clutter and dirty laundry. She would put wheelmarks on my khakis and crumple my newspaper. And the cat might sneak out while we are trying to get the chair inside.

No. Its better to visit out back by the folding chair. I can bring the stereo outside. We can listen to CDs and have some beer. If you bring ice, we can even put it in one of the trash cans. Its a pretty day. It would be fun.

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post #199
bio: blaine

first post
that week

Category List
April - National Poetry Month 2008

Favorite Things
· Autumn's first apples
· What It Is! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves boxset
· Collected Works of Jack London
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