A.L.S.

A prose poem about disability

My Achilles heel has a tendency to cramp; and by “heel” I of course mean body. I have a pair of red swim trunks that I wear while imagining I’m an Olympic swimmer. But that dream ends when I can’t finish one lap and require rescue. My father pushes me to focus on my studies.

Vector calculus is like building with Legos, yet a simple walk across the room is like swimming the Atlantic. My father would tell me: “do what you can, not what you love.” I used to get so mad at him, but repeating an action and expecting different results is insanity, or so Einstein said. So I retired those red trunks.