Twisted, a poem written by Ricky Hawthorne at



written by: Ricky Hawthorne



When I saw him trip and fall, I stalled,
Gawping at his efforts to raise himself, smashed,
Straddled between two happy hour bars,
Splayed out, sprawled across
The gutter and the road
Immobilizing the impotent traffic
Workers and shoppers rushed past
A cacophony of flesh and chrome
Swerving around the human chicane
Bags and briefcases arced away in aseptic orbits
Ho masks, eyeless, prepared to
Divert unpredictable aggression

I tried to honour them but my craven eyes,
Driven by inherent schadenfreude,
Sought him out
Earning their reward as he rose, Lazarus-like,
Grappling with gravity and headed my way

Instantly, then, the portcullis withdrew
Allowing access to my walled-city mind
And that ungainly gait
Perverse, yet true,
That guided him back to safety
Obliterated those didactic codes

I ran toward him, a parody of humanity
Hankering the anaesthetic of forgiveness
“Are you hurt? Can I help you across the road?” I begged.
“It’s okay” he said, absolving me. “My legs are twisted”
“Only your legs” I thought
“How lucky”

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