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Cripple’s Dance

by Stuart Dischell


I stare at myself
As I wheel crippled twin
Across the terrace.
A thin and wasted me,
He is bored of himself,
His books, and bedsores.
But it is I in the factory
Who works for his cancer
& chamber-pot nurses.
My brother, your boredom bores me.


It is suppertime.
I exchange our rings and watches,
Throw your light body over the wall
& listen for the disturbing crash
Of your final belly-flop.
I ease into your chair
& scream for the nurses.
Come save my brother,
He tripped off the wall
While tap dancing for me.


Some say Stuart Dischell’s reputation will skyrocket with the publication of his first book, Rising Tired. (Fall 1974)

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AGNI Magazine :: published at Boston University ©2008 AGNI