Raymond Luczak
THE MOUNTAIN
After my car accident, I rebuilt my body.
I wasn’t into weightlifting before,
but a lot of guys were into muscle.
If they didn’t want my rubbery legs,
they might lust for the mountain range
capping my pecs, my shoulders.
I parcel out online a web of pictures,
artfully cropped from selfies
taken from crotch-level to make me look
gigantic, lining them all on a grid
featuring my shirtless profiles
on their shiny phone screens.
None of them show my wheelchair.
When you’re a crip like I am,
you gotta sometimes bait and switch
with sexy pics. Most guys never read
my profile all the way through to catch
“Wheelchair user here. Hosting only.”
What’s hell is finding how many guys
lie when they say my wheelchair’s not
a problem. They show up at my place,
see how short I am, mumble about
sorry but I can’t—I can’t—gotta go.
Who knew boulders could crumble so easily?