She saw the kids on the slide,
each with their own
burden to bear:
burn scars,

post operative
patients,
cancer victims
counting the last days

on their thin fingers,
a kid with an eye gone,
lid sewn.  
And she, Anne,

amputee, bad
tempered *****,
12 year old,
big bosomed,

fine of remaining limb,
scanning the rest,
seated
in the wheel chair,

Skinny Kid behind,
hands on the handles,
warm breath
on her neck.

She was bored,
sun too bright,
kids too noisy,
nurse ****-arsing

near by,
taking temperatures,
changing wound
bandages, crouched

to see eye to eye,
thighs showing
stocking tops.
Hey, Kid,

she said,
get a peek at that,
indicating the thighs
and stocking tops

on view.
The Kid, thin arms
and legs, short hair,
11 year old, stared,

took in stocking legs,
black, warming,
looked away.
Don't get to see

that every day,
Kid, unless
you're their old man
or fond lover,

Anne said,
grinning ear to ear.
Skinny Kid,
stood, loyal,

whispered into
her neck,
want me to push you
to the beach?

sure, Kid,
get me
from these wounded ones,
these dying doomed,

let me smell
the salt and sea,
let me hear
the sea's song.

So the Kid, pushed
the chair, arms
out stretched,
over lawn,

down path,
she singing,
rude lyrics,  
her one remaining leg

rocking
to the chairs' move,
the stump, showing
where her skirt ended,

shook and rocked.  
Out the back gate,
onto the path
by the beach,

out of the nurse's sight,
or sound of voice's reach.
She thinking
of the Kid's

loyal touch,
his heaving her
from chair to bed,
the night before,

his thin arms
clutching tight
in case she fell,
the warm bed

embracing,
holding her down,
he standing there,
gazing at her

bare stump
with that innocent
stare.
He thinking,

as he pushed along,
how red
her stump was
the night before,

how the thigh
of her other leg
was white as snow
compared,

going red
as he stared.