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This poem is about some not very nice non disabled people from the Salvation
Army who were practising at the daycentre I was visiting.
Close the door on your way out
When I said "Excuse me, "
very loudly
they all looked
but didn't see me
they expected to find
a human there
but all they saw
was my wheelchair
they turned their backs
like I hurt their eyes
as I pointed to
the cigarette at my side
I said kindly
"Please let go of the door,
the smoke was in here
now it's all in the hall."
I was speaking
but they didn't hear
still looking away
into the thickening air
I said "The reason
why we use this room
is so others don't have to
breathe our fumes,
some people are allergic
to smoke
neither parents
nor children spoke.
But they responded to
my polite request
by leaving,
which I think was best
the last one closed the door
on his way out
I was shaking
and I wanted to shout
"Salvation Army?
you ignorant shits,
you believe in hell
hope you go there for this!"
clair lewis
dec 1999
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