amputation is not a word to cultivate
the sound of, suddenly everything
I see is legless
or limping traffic signs have     one
trees get along quite well
without 'rehab,' appears to     me
flowers stand, unless it rains
terns and flamingos show off
but everyone else has two
or four or a hundred
is a centipede     God I can't
remember when I used to hate
my k n e e s
for being so unsmooth, ever so
slighly bowed
or when I said I hate   to   walk
in this heat     (this cold
this storm)       this shot
will make you sleep, Hon,
she said sweetly     Later another sleep
will keep stepping
away

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, l988

Poetic Liberty awarded surgery at ten first prize in July, l988 . It meant...still means...the world to me, because I wrote the poem in honor of my beloved
father-in-law, Joseph Edgar Green. Dad had just lost a leg to diabetes. But although he was in his 80's and had other health problems, too, he soldiered on for several years, seldom losing his wry sense of humor. He was a kind, sweet soul who taught me what it was like to have a father who truly...unconditionally....cared. I will always miss him. Phyllis