Seeing Life in Black and White
As I wheel back home
There are too many thieves. They had already taken my legs, stolen my breath — swiped my words before they left my tongue
That’s why I talk very little, wary of who I speak with, and make sure my eyes avert a stranger’s stealthy gaze
I don’t want to be distracted by the shady — then fleeced, hijacked, or stoned — I want to get home as quickly as I can, lock my doors, and make sure the porch light is on
I’m not blaming everyone for my bad luck, but there are quite a few I distrust — it’s just how God made me— weak and crippled, sacrificed on the altar,
and preyed upon by the vultures hiding behind bushes, lurking in dark caves
You’d think they’d leave a guy like me alone and feel sorry for my misfortune, but no such luck because I’m the first to be robbed, devoured by the thieves and cowards who seize the vulnerable
And so, I labor up the hill, wheel down the street, wearing a protective shield, guarding against the world with the Hand of Miriam around my neck — seeing life in black and white — keeping others at a distance and hoping nothing terrible happens because I’ve had my share.
© 2022 Mark Tulin
