Hello my lovely readers
After yesterday's post about the changes in my body allowing me to access different spaces on land, this one is about being able to fly again, because you can't stay in a wheelchair on board. The poem also addresses the ethical complications of my delight. I was going to include a relevant photo but can't find it, alas.
18th December 2019
Tonight I'm pondering the real luck
I know that I possess in terms of travel
since many of my wheely friends are stuck
and cannot fly to any place at all.
For I, myself, was recently among
the people for whom planes are inaccessible
and held my patience almost ten years long
until my quest for comfort was successful.
I realise none of us should really fly
because of how such journeys harm our planet
Yet sometimes there's no route beyond sky
and families now spread out in quite a wide stretch.
Is it then right that we're so separated
and that commercial flight's so segregated?
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