in early July nineteen-eighty-six
waking up in the naval hospital
what’s going on here my mind playing tricks?
no longer would I see Reggie Little
whenever I stood I couldn’t do it
and it was very hard for me to walk
for that July wheelchair I’d have to sit
the worse thing was stuttering when I talk
then came walker and crutches and good-bye
I was heading back home which wasn’t good
reliving my childhood stuttering why?
when I talked I was so misunderstood
today achy bones and scars are still there
but writing poetry makes it all fair