Henry was walking
with his wife
along the sidewalk
in the city
looking for some cafe
she knew
and wanted to go
when he saw this young dame
in a wheelchair
with long hair
and fine features
pushing the wheels
with her hands
and she had these
leather fingerless gloves
and he thought
who puts her in
and out of the chair?
who holds her close
to them and smells
the shampoo
in her hair
feels her small *******
against them as they hold?
who gets her in
and out of the tub
or in and out of bed
who washes her back
or wipes her ***
She had wheeled herself by
but not before
he’d taken in all
that he could
the jeans she wore
the white tee-shirt
the black shoes
the pretty lips
the way she gripped
and pushed the wheels
his wife was yakking
about some dress
she’d seen
in some store
and wanted to go
and look and maybe buy
but the passing dame
had caught his eye
and he wondered how
she got to be in the chair
accident or from birth
disease or some beat up
that went wrong?
He couldn’t ask that’d
be too rude and besides
she was well on
her way now
and his wife was striding
on with determined gaze
but he couldn’t get
the dame out of his head
her sitting there
with her long flowing hair
and those eyes
and the constant questions
of who did what for her
and how did she
do this and that
and who lifted her up
and out? was it some
strong guy some
dedicated hunk?
Or maybe her mother
and father did the job
of getting her in shape
and bathed
he thought
and did she *****
like other dames
have some fond lover
who played the game?
All the questions
and no answers
made him wonder more
even later in the cafe
sipping the his latte
while his wife yakked away
and even later that night
in bed besides his wife
who snored
he pictured the dame
beside him
a paraplegic model
or an art piece
that he adored.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
Henry was walking
with his wife
along the sidewalk
in the city
looking for some cafe
she knew
and wanted to go
when he saw this young dame
in a wheelchair
with long hair
and fine features
pushing the wheels
with her hands
and she had these
leather fingerless gloves
and he thought
who puts her in
and out of the chair?
who holds her close
to them and smells
the shampoo
in her hair
feels her small *******
against them as they hold?
who gets her in
and out of the tub
or in and out of bed
who washes her back
or wipes her ***
She had wheeled herself by
but not before
he’d taken in all
that he could
the jeans she wore
the white tee-shirt
the black shoes
the pretty lips
the way she gripped
and pushed the wheels
his wife was yakking
about some dress
she’d seen
in some store
and wanted to go
and look and maybe buy
but the passing dame
had caught his eye
and he wondered how
she got to be in the chair
accident or from birth
disease or some beat up
that went wrong?
He couldn’t ask that’d
be too rude and besides
she was well on
her way now
and his wife was striding
on with determined gaze
but he couldn’t get
the dame out of his head
her sitting there
with her long flowing hair
and those eyes
and the constant questions
of who did what for her
and how did she
do this and that
and who lifted her up
and out? was it some
strong guy some
dedicated hunk?
Or maybe her mother
and father did the job
of getting her in shape
and bathed
he thought
and did she *****
like other dames
have some fond lover
who played the game?
All the questions
and no answers
made him wonder more
even later in the cafe
sipping the his latte
while his wife yakked away
and even later that night
in bed besides his wife
who snored
he pictured the dame
beside him
a paraplegic model
or an art piece
that he adored.
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