The daily commute

At the poetry slam
(See previous post)
I sat beside a lady
Who couldn't speak
She wrote instead
On a sheet of paper
Why
Motor Neurone Disease
MND
Neatly printed in blue pen
Laid out for me to see
We talk/wrote for some time
And as I looked into her
Sad sparkly eyes
Her stoic little chin
Enjoyed her slightly slanted flashing grin
I found more grace
And warmth
And beauty
Then I had encountered
For a very long time
It was funny
Weird
Strange
That only the previous day
I had wondered to myself
If perhaps it would be better
If I had no mouth
If I was mute
Things would more easily come out
Because
When I write
Everything flows
Clearly
And just the way I want it
When I speak
Everything gets jumbled about
Strange things sometimes pop out
Awkwardly
Because
I'm a writer
I seem to be able to filter what I write
But not what I say
I mean
I'm not a complete idiot
Just
A
Bit
Odd
At times
Which causes me to blush
And then rush off
As fast as I can
Anyway
Watching her hand
Laboriously write
Every
Single
Time
I asked a question
Watching that slim
Little
Sparrow
Drag her leg
Courageously
As she moved
In and out
Of all the able bodied people
I have cancelled my prior intention
To be mute
And will instead pay more attention
To what I say
Throughout the daily commute
From within
To the outer world

One thought on “The daily commute

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