by Marsha Delaney Metcalfe
This MS is no longer a piece of cake.
No longer permits me to waddle through getting a bachelorís degree.
No longer accepts Canadian crutches as a necessary means to attaning a Masterís Degree in English.
No longer lets me spin around on a miniscule scooter, flinging doors open and giving pennies to poor souls who desperately try to open an opened door.
Does not allow me to rule my little life from a more restrictive four wheel scooter.
Does not permit independent transfers.
Has long since taken way a 50-wpm typing speed.
Absolutely forbids more than a scratched ďmarkĒ.
Keeps me most of the time in this bed.
I donít like this MS.
© Marsha Delaney Metcalfe, 2001