Who to Blame

by Ed Meek

When I fractured my knee I became one
of the lame. You see us on the streets,
moving slow as peat, faces grimacing
in pain. I can’t explain exactly how
it feels to be a useless fuck, dependent
on the State or someone you love—it sucks
all right. Although it’s good to know it will
eventually end, unlike the plight of those
disabled for life—feet blown off by
terrorists or rocked by IEDs in
Iraq or friendly fire in Afghanistan,
or maybe a misguided drone. Sometimes
you have to wonder who the enemy really is.
I wonder who to blame as I limp my way home.