The Metamorphosis of the Disable

I wake and resume to stoop, to work,
Bent like a sewing machine, an oil rig,
A slave picking cotton in a ripe field.

down, up
and and
Up down.


But today, I am morphed into a cockroach,
Climbing walls and ceilings instead of stooping.
These feats, however, do not pay.
So my mother, my sister""
others who once needed me""
now need once again to work.
They feed me apples like Brutus fed Caesar.
Wounded, infected, in darkness I wait,

An injured limb ches:

down, up
and and.
Up down.

Again. Alone.

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