Wheeled
I am wheeled. My weight
in legs as flesh made solid as
half dead and half
alive as weakness but I.
I – my movement joy. My
leap up jagged kerbs. My
speed. I trail people; walking –
half running. Failing to
catch me.
I keep going. I; after your hours
and blisters my battery runs
I speed. I swerve. I keep
on going. I keep on going.
I am wheeled. My movement
joy. My pace. My sleek metal
my rapid-fingered course-correction
Dance. Dance and run. Find joy
in every rolling motion. In every
single movement where flesh
meets metal and wheels; as if
my blood runs through each joint.