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.
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