David

 

you were the boy with a lazy leg

who slurred his speech

whose thoughts ran slow

who dragged a heavy body

like a sack

 

you could only use one arm

the other lay limp

across your chest

I sometimes wondered

what it wanted to protect

 

there were rumours

about how you ended up like this

tight mouthed adults

whispered of gin and a reluctant mother

kinder lips said

polio

 

to us you were David

with a grey jumper that was too short

so we tugged it down

when it rode up to expose your tender belly

and sometimes we slowed our pace to yours

in the small grey yard

where teachers allowed us

to see the sky

 

sometimes

knowing the world

through your slow blinking eyes

was a blessing

 

how else would we have seen

clouds dance