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Downhill racer

He had a motor fitted to his wheelchair, which was grand

He wouldn’t have to move it now, with his aching hands

He’d struggled up and down that hill, several times a week

His fitness levels, heart and lungs were surely past their peek

Now simply with his feet and thumbs, he could control the speed

Much better with a motor, he had to now concede

Till winter came and froze the ground into an icy sheet

Then out of house and out of yard and onto sloping street

The motor worked as well as ever, but rubber wheels on gloves of leather

Failed to stop the chairs onslaught, to final date with Juggernaut…

Photo credit: Marcus Aurelius on


Published by crispinunderfelt

All round good egg. Humanist and red wine drinker.

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