The Man at the Station

You are just ahead of me

as I cross the bridge.

I see your legs

bent and broken,

and I think:

I’m thankful

I can still walk.

I’m thankful

I can run,

if I wanted to.

When I get home

I sit on the sofa

and don’t move for the

rest of the night.

I was musing today about the marvels of mobility, after seeing an elderly man being overtaken by speedy commuters on their way home from work.  It was very humbling, though after a long day I still spent the evening in front of the television.  Maybe I’ll do that less from now on.

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