Chics in Wheelchairs

On the boob tube a comedian guffaws
"I have high standards
no chics in wheelchairs or ones who use canes"

In a meeting, a woman shared
"I deserve more than to be with a man
who walks with a cane."

I happened to be leading that meeting
she, so self absorbed didn't connect the dots
when, at the end, I rose with the aide of my cane.

I can't fault them, even I
say in the recesses of my mind
you're broken, unwanted...

They do not know that in the flash of a headlight
my life was altered from harmony to staccato rhythms
I know that I am still whole inside...

except for the hole where I bury my doubts, loneliness and fears.
A.S.
4/23/2011

Filters as Shields

Her face twists into a veil
she, an empath, a clairvoyant too
catching trails of thought
feels her way into a room.

The clambering tambourine
of your disquieted mind is too strong
buffering as best she can
adipose tissue, a painted fan

She sees a hole which you stuff with people places and things
braces herself, careful not to be sucked right in
knowing full well it is meant to be there
Mind races, pulse quickens, you're scared.

Part the curtains or sea, which can never stay still
The hole's not broken don't fix it, your conduit wails.
Each soul's not perfect, each egg has a crack
The hole is really a treasure map.

Instead of yearning, you might sit and pray
or if that's not your bag list ten good things you ate today
unimportant the method, you bring it forth
the hole is there to guide you, like a tuning fork.

A.S. 4/10/2011