The Wooden Ramp
His yard is a landscape of
ragweed, clustered
dandelions, home of peeled paint
wheelchair ramp at an
extreme angle. He
faces the open doorway
Afghan arms need several
tries to roar up the
inclination, a painful
tumble not part of the plan.
Laying on his porch remembers how
it used to be -- wife and kids
picnics, fun and laughter,
now useless legs, quarts of booze
son Harry growing too quickly.
Joan's loving arms a dream
storm clouds
the only activity around.
© Richard L. Provencher 2006
first published Dec-Jan-Feb 2006-2007
Stellar Showcase Journal
Volume 1 Issue 3
Oshawa, ON
ISSN 1911-1819
