Poetry Corner: The Wheelchair Monologue

Poetry Corner: IDENTITY

The Wheelchair Monologue


I am not an off-road vehicle
I am a wheelchair.
For Christ’s sake will you slow down,
I am a wheelchair, not a rocket.
Will you please stop slopping coffee over me.
I’m not goin’ out in that weather,
I’m not a bloody tank.
Another thing, I’m knackered.
Carrying all your stuff, do ye really need:
2 novels, 3 notebooks, X no. of biros;
every section of the Guardian; and a soddin’ leaky ‘keep‘ cup.

And could you tell the motorists, I’ll get off the road When they stop parking up against the lowered kerbs.
And will you please stop swearing at me

I’m just not some random bits of steel and rubber I’m sensitive, you and me need each other. Remember that time I broke down
And you went nuts because you couldn’t get out And get your stinky coffee…

“All right mister wheelchair (Sir!) Thank you for the feedback,
I’m turning you off now goodnight.”

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