The youngster trips again, more bruises
luckily his limbs, and his spirit aren't broke
he's got good at falling, though, up quickly and laughing
some people think he tumbles just for a joke.
He'd lie awake at night, worrying, wondering
why he so awkward and clumsy and all
nobody told him, you can't run like the others
you're deformed, unbalanced, you're gonna fall.
Because his feet were growing hoof-like, not flat
they were partly paralyzed, the circulation was poor
this caused callouses and chilblains, and trench-foot
even frostbite, his feet were always sore.
Suffering this daily torture as a youngster
made him very tough to normal pain
although small, he was good at fighting
he could take a punch, but come back again.
His playground boxing skill soon got him some cred
and the bad gang 'adopted' him, their little fighter
so he never ever got bullied, or laughed at
and that probably made his school days brighter.
He loved the games and sports at school
never better than average, but loved to compete
enough skill and timing, but balance always let him down
when a smooth, flowing action required two good feet.
At 15, he passed exams to join the Royal Engineers
the Army Doctor treated it like a joke
“During wartime, in the Regulars, they'd have stuck you up front
but there's no room in the Sappers for a disabled bloke.”
With the black humour he was grinning, but his head was spinning
the word 'disabled' echoed in his ears
this was his problem, right from the beginning
small wonder his anguish, over the years.
The Army doctor referred him to his family GP
who pretended the infant polio was already written down
they suggested, now, special crutches, or surgical boots
after 15 years trying to be normal, he suddenly felt a clown.
He took it on board, now this polio tag
to him, it was like a 'get out of jail' card
Now, he just had to do his best,
or do something else, if things got too hard.
He worked on building sites, got accepted, no problem
mind you do your job, everybody gets on fine
but suddenly the 'elf n' safety' boys came in
they thought he was drunk, couldn't walk a straight line.
Mustn't work at heights, no heavy power tools,
no carrying loads over twenty-five K
"for his sake, and the safety of others"
no more manual stuff, he had to walk away.
He'd gone a full circle now, returning to architecture
despite some saying he was too dim, when he left school
but, he was artistic, and knew a lot about building now
he'd carve a career out of it, now he's nobody's fool.
Now he's in his Autumn years, reminiscing
he's had some fun, he's not one to snivel
now he's in the garden, or beachcombing with the dog
and his real raison d'etre, spewing rhyming drivel.
Tony Bradley
