Poetry

Achondroplastic; At the Party

Jean Frances

Achondroplastic

 

They call me brave but to be brave

one has to have a choice

 

An aberration

dispossessed from the start

The product

of one hideous mistake

on the Jacob’s ladder of DNA

 

Growth stunted

with a massive head

blunt pug-like features

Limbs squat and bowed

 

In the street

people stared with pity

and ill-disguised revulsion

One woman crossed herself

another touched him

for good luck

 

He once asked his mother

Where did I come from

Helplessly

she struggled for an answer

He didn’t ask again

His father never looked at him

 

The ugly are unforgivable

 

 

At the Party

 

It’s not food or drink you crave

but intelligent conversation

Because you’re in a wheelchair

they think the brain has thrown in the towel

 

They chatter across you

one or two may look down

eye contact slithers

Some charitable soul will ask

May I bring a plate   a glass

then   good deed done   she slides away

 

You long to leave

but have to stay until the end

when your driver is ready

How desirable home seems

where you know you are

a member of the human race