lament

I don't have the energy to look

at another patient seated in the waiting room

or the courage to take in

her features, thin, the wheelchair around her

and note my luck in recovery

I have labored over the slow progression toward wholeness as I knew it,

speedy wit and absorption of the room

and beyond

I have no right to lay claim to

all I am accustomed to having.

Is it mine what might that be

Can I make that again

an inky guy lopes behind an older relative

half tough as a purpose