By John Grey
So here he is,
stepping into the sunlight,
missing half a leg
but defiant.
After all,
everything else of him
remains in place.
A month in hospital,
a reprieve,
a vow to occupy the present tense
as passionately as ever.
Let disease bear the guilt.
It will not tell him what to do.
Outfitted with a prosthetic appliance,
but same voice,
same blue eyes,
despite everything,
a pillar of free will,
of elementary particles
in constant motion.
Help him into the car maybe
but not into his life.
He’s there already.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Hollins Critic. Latest books, Leaves On Pages, Memory Outside The Head, and Guest Of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Ellipsis, Blueline, and International Poetry Review.