Disabled
You came in late, your
wheelchair jarring
against desks and chairs.
At pains to point out
how few
subsidised help-hours
you get
and that you live on your own
you hijacked
the space
shot strange words
like diatribe,
a lifetime supply
of axes and chips.
The other hostages appeared
to hear you;
my compassion was disabled
by your different-coloured
shoelaces.
