A Man

He was a man of many parts, most of them didn't function too well. Born extraordinarily, labeled ‘disabled,’ he lived a life of boisterous solitude. Friends he had on the periphery of a wheel-bound existence, lovers were distant pen-pals mostly gals. Folks that are put together differently have no enemies only on-lookers; maybe a few care bears - those who care in the usual distracted way. When he died the funeral cortege was long. At the service, none dared say a thing ‘wrong.' Yet he was just as flawed as us, difference being his weaknesses were mostly on the outside revealed unbidden, while ours are mostly hidden.