I just found a poem that I wrote in 1976 at the age of 20
The wheelchair grasps another victim
Slowly sucking its energy
With every turn of the squeaky wheels.
Three hundred sixty dreaded degrees
Morbid degrees of freedom
Ecstacy that at least this is left
Never believe in an oil can to smooth a joint:
It makes you slide further into the pit
Getting out is relative.
You always belittled a truck driver before
But how you would love to be one.
It's funny how life treats us —
Yet when we are beyond repair how we treat life.