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.