My cane opening with
We start down the obscured aisle
Trying to hide my infirmity.
I never take a major
As is dining out.
Forks slip through fingers,
Then there’s digging for change
To pay for a newspaper
While watched by an impatient clerk,
A plumber on his way to work,
A mother adding chips to her
And the child, himself, tugging at my jersey.
“They don’t understand,” I holler, silently.
I’m trying my best. Age rumbles in,
Advancing faster than my walking stick
Just you wait Urchin, just you wait.”