To My Wheelchair

Metal contraption, I dutifully climb into you each day as the sun rises

and drive your clunky frame through the hills of a crowded campus

to face the questions and stares of the kindhearted and heartless.

 

I prefer you in short increments and, on weekdays only please

but I’m strapped into your metal ways at almost all times

and jostle along with each bump and crack in the sidewalk.

 

I hold tight to your rubber arms as we travel down the steep hills

and plow you through old man winters blinding white ways

for long stretches, in between short, fitful summers

 

I’m not pretending that I never curse you, because I do,

for sticking in gravel, grass and grout, breaking down

every Monday, or your front left wheel falling off again

 

and yet you carry me faithfully to and from school and home

where I jump to the floor and embrace freedom and movement

until I climb again from bed and into mobility and its adventurous ways.