A DISGUSTED STARE

A DISGUSTED STARE

They stare at me, some with brass some with stealth

but always with a furrowed brow or curled lip

I ponder if it is my obvious lack of wealth or health

whether my stooped gait or long trouser rip

is what disgusts them and makes me feel so low

and that I’m just sucking air and taking up space.

And those angry tuts because I’m so very slow

as if I have a choice to simply quicken my pace.

I used to see good in everyone and bad was rare

but living with illness you know after awhile

that once you’ve felt the burn of a disgusted stare

there are not many good and the rest are vile.

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