“I don’t think they allow canes in here,” said the man with him.

“Of course they do. It’s a restaurant. Restaurants allow canes.”

He looked down the narrow lane leading to the counter. Three people were waiting in line. Beyond them a young attendant pressed buttons on a cash register shaped like a shoe. The lane leading up to the counter was dim and narrow.

He pushed open the second glass door, entering fully into smells of grease and meat and cleaning chemicals. A woman in shorts carried a tray of paper-wrapped food from the counter to the napkin bar to a brightly colored booth, where a man and two boys were waiting.

He leaned forward on the cane. The spring mechanism recoiled, causing him to sink down and bob back up.

“You can’t bring that in here.”
A middle-aged couple was sitting in a half-sized booth by the entrance.

“What?”
He was self-conscious about needing the cane. Whenever a stranger took notice of it, he felt like a fraud. He felt that he had to prove to this disbelieving person that, Yes, he was only 27 years old, but he needed that cane. He wasn’t carrying it around as some unholy statement of fashion.

“Do these people think I’m trying to look cool?,” he wondered when he spotted strangers giving him sideways glances or rolling their eyes. “Do they think I’m mocking a whole race of people who use canes–like I’m showing off some hip accessory? I happen to need this cane.”

“Can’t I bring a cane into a fast food restaurant?” he called, maybe a little too loudly, to the woman in the booth.

“No. You can’t.” Her husband pointed to a tiny bronze-lacquered sign on the railing of the entranceway. Engraved on it were the words NO CANES IN RESTAURANT.

“Do you think I can help it that I need a cane?” he said, letting himself collapse to his knees. The diners seated throughout the restaurant did not drop their sandwiches and let out the collective gasp he expected to hear.

He thrust the cane outward as he lay on the floor. Its rubber foot suctioned onto the linoleum tile like a fat tentacle. Using only his arm strength, he dragged himself forward a few inches. He thrust the cane forward again and again, dragging his heavy legs behind him as he slithered straight towards the counter.

He looked over his shoulder to see the couple at the half booth. They avoided eye contact. They sat still, their mouths moving inaudibly.

“I’m whispering about you,” he hissed at them, “You can’t hear me.”

He saw blood pouring into the woman’s cheeks.

Victory.

the
ability to
INQUIRE

about the importance
of
a
variety
of
subjects
is a characteristic
that–
along with
a
plethora
of
others–
guides
a person
towards
the path
of knowledge.

un
fortunately
being possessive
of
elastic curiosity
undoubtedly
does not ensure
that
a person
will ever
actually
arrive
at
KNOWLEDGE.

who makes a breast mountain monument
around which water flows and sheep graze –
ceremoniously circling goddess supreme

who is worshiped in dark reservoirs
level plains of God and human and Nature
steps deliberately in the ocean’s wake,
who sinks subtly. inaudibly

who signs not works of art
but shares the snares of life
Peaceful and Natural and Continuous –
connected in sacred groves, holy caves

–who freely serves the servant

maybe shooting,
you’ll see it,
down a pyramid
water slide, splashing
sagacious
in the stimuli tide.

if you find it,
release, please,
it from that sea,
you will?

Who has screamed her throat coarse
and had her mouth filled with gravel,
swallowing it, feeling it
make slits and holes in intestines on
its journey through digestion

Whose faith is unfounded
when her heart has healed
itself with no object

Whose eyes are blind when
the backs of her eyelids
paint new murals
every time she blinks

Whose lover is destined
when love is a tender baby sparrow
dangling by a feather,
screaming for a savior

“Who be” says eye to the whump drumming
earlobe fibe.
Comb cone a blistery thigh
I know not needer nor nie

Come corkscrew on too, oy!
KWEhhchk BLA
                            ahh
                                hh!!