WHAT NOT TO SAY TO ME NOW THAT I AM CRIPPLED*
Try not to tell me to take your time when holding the door; if I could lag
blind left eye discerns your kind face ignoring my conspicuous left foot
if I comply with these cures: having a hysterectomy, or its opposite—
at Versailles—any of which ought to turn my question mark spine into
when I relate recent successes, don't cry out "Good for you!" (as if I
or drive my car to physical therapy ("Good for you!") —or shower by
when you spy me on my motorized scooter, don't saunter by and claim
neighbor died of MS, then tell me that I look Fantastic! Delightful!
*This poem will be published in Poems for the Writing: Prompts for Poets forthcoming in January 2012 from Texas Press.