Hour Five

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.

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