Janice Tindle’s WordPress site!
You’ve seen it going passed by you at a snail’s pace,
You’ve snarled your lip at the humped over state,
You didn’t see her face, for around her, an air of despair,
You never ever acknowledge the invisible wheelchair.
The weight of a thousand doctor visits hang from her bones,
In her blood runs the toxins of pharmaceutical drones,
She walks with a gait that brings aches in her neck and spine,
But she smiles to the cashier and answers, “I’m fine.”
She’ll go back to her home and lay down after your incision,
She sighs for she knows she is held in silent derision,
It is of no matter, there’s not much to be done,
But to carry on with the dawn of each rising sun,
You saw her stand by you, but you just stared at your feet,
As she stretched for the product too far from her…
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