You look at me with your young eyes
and you do not see me.
You see a crippled old man
hobbling over a walking frame
legs bowed from Polio’s kiss
spine curved from Gravity’s cruelty.
You watch me manoeuvre that frame
from road to path via gutter
and wonder if I’ll fall backwards.
Well, so do I. Every day.
Still, the perils of an old, broken body
cannot stop the muscles controlling my joy
and if you look closely, beyond the liberal creases
of the years I’ve lived
up through the crevices of endurance…
if you guide your gaze to my eyes
you will see they are still dancing.
Oh yes, they will never stop dancing.