By
Deb Robins
I
never saw when they cleaned off his desk.
He
was just a classmate.
I
wouldn't have called him friend.
The
unexpected whir of his wheelchair
Always
startled me.
And
I lived with a constant fear of him
Running
over my toes,
Though
he never did.
No,
there was no friendship -
More
like an awareness of each other.
I’ll
give him this much though.
He
was the only one who could
Take
the piss out of a teacher
And
get away with it.
I
guess they felt sorry for him.
When
our group proved unruly,
The
rest of us would land lunchtime detention upstairs.
And
he didn’t have to…
But,
he always did his time too – only in the library.
He
used to laugh when I cracked a joke,
Even
when nobody else did.
Once
I farted unexpectedly
In
front of everyone.
He
said, “Damn noisy wheels on the lino!”
But
I never called him at home.
I
never called him, friend.
The
class is kinda quiet now.
No
whirring great throne on wheels.
No
anxious toes, no wisecracking.
But
now when I say something funny
And
nobody laughs,
I
want him back
So
I can ask him over for dinner.