Building Empathy

Owners of businesses that have not made the necessary modifications in order to accommodate the physically disabled must not be hurting for our business. If we cannot even get in or use the facilities, it’s nor a very welcoming environment. Most people in wheelchairs probably refrain from going to places that are not handicap accessible. Then again, I’m not most people.

Wednesday, Aug. 23rd, there was another Holler, which is the poetry series that’s widely considered the primo literary event in Lexington. The reading takes place at Al’s Bar and if you’re in a wheelchair, getting inside Al’s Bar is quite a daunting task. And forget about using the restroom there, the doors are way to narrow to fit through.
But despite these impediments, I am a regular presenter at Holler, having read at at least half of the 16 Holler’s thus far. It’s also no secret that there does need to be some renovations to the building so that it is accessible and can be enjoyed by all. I read a prose-type piece entitled Shedding Light at the Open Mic back at Holler 5 (?), I think it was, directly addressing the need for a ramp and/or an accessible restroom. But that plea has gone unanswered.
Now that I think about it, I have never even seen anyone else in a wheelchair inside of Al’s Bar But is it any wonder? I mean, why should they go to all the trouble? Me, on the other hand, I enjoy overcoming adversity.

So at Holler 16 a couple weeks back I read two fairly short poems. Here they are:

A Mission

Downtown, mid-day
lunch rush

Carefully careening
through crowds
of white-collar workers

The bumpy, brick-lain sidewalks
of Main Street causing
a sloshing of bladder matter

Spotting a parking lot
I went in and unzipped,

then I let it rip
let go
let it flow

When you gotta go,
you gotta go

Upon turning, saying
“Ahhh, mission accomplished”

“Pissing accomplished?”
Confirmed my crony

Whatever works

If public urination
is a crime
then I’m
a repeat offender




Male Point of View

Who knew
electrical plugs
had genders

The outlets
on walls
are females

The prongs
at the end
of chords
are males

Who knew
electrical plugs
had genitals

When you stick prongs in outlets
enough times the outlet walls expand
and loose contact with the prongs

And when that happens,
through repeated penetration,
all you can do is
find another outlet
to stick your prong in

So when you find one that fits
stick with it

The first poem is a true story—not surprisingly, if you know me. The choice between taking a leak in the open or taking a leak in my pants ain’t no choice at all; like the poem says, “When you gotta go, you gotta go.” Maybe having read this at Al’s will trigger some action to remedy the “bathroom situation.” I doubt it, but at least, hopefully, I’m beginning to build some empathy. It’s a process.
The other poem is about my being enlightened of the different types of electrical plugs. It’s like another dimension to the Battle of the Sexes. Once again, true story: I took my power wheelchair into the shop because there seemed to be some sort of short in the battery charger. As it turned out the charger was fine; the problem was actually in the chair—more specifically, the place where the charger plugged into, the dock had gotten worn and the plug wasn’t holding a firm connection to the prongs (as was explained to me). Once I had the idea, writing it was simple; reading it while keeping a straight face was the real challenge.
Like with almost anything, no matter the gravity or complexity of the curveball that life hurls your way, you have to be able to find the comedy in it—even in tragedy. I am a living testament of this.