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 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.