Child In A Wheelchair (Poetry)

Unmoving she sat
watching through the glass
the kids in our street
life skipping on past
her face a pale mask

We knew she was there
we whispered — some waved
without thinking how
or why we behaved
as though showing-off

to our audience
no intention there
by demonstration
to meet her blank stare
show brief compassion

for how she might feel
stuck in her steel chair
excluded from play
no hope and no prayer
no cure on its way

And worse still to come
her young mother’s death
one day bright with snow
dim memories left
haunt sixty years on