The cripples fight every day just to stay juicy…

Don’t kid yourself, they’re hanging from vines
While railways run on
And radios play from windows…
Once, riding a gondola
I heard Nina Simone from on high
She was singing of her liver
I had no one to tell
Except my guide dog
And the gondolier
Who was smoking
Fighting for something
I couldn’t name
The cripples making beauty
Before they drop

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto