deepundergroundpoetry.com

her.

I saw an old wheelchair, dusty
forgotten in the corner
of an even older thrift store.

Lost in imagination, I saw her
pull it next to my front window,
a giant, ego-shaped blot
in the view of my glorious sun.

She scratches her shitty sketches
of my wind chimes, turning
to ask almost wistfully, on a sigh.
Why, should she have an Etsy store?

All with legs held downward,
as if she’s a 1920’s starlet, having
dramatically lost the use of her legs.
Written by LunaGreyhawk
Published
Author's Note
NaPo 3/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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