
Gerald McCarthy - Poetry

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Curb Runner
I was born with one leg
shorter than the other,
and I learned to ride the curbs
swinging my good leg
outward like a wing.
Step and a half
they tagged me—
I’d look up to see them
standing around
across from the high school
downtown, near
Marino’s lunch place
where the sign said—
they also serve
who only stand and wait—
and below that: Be still and know.
I know I wanted to skirt
the crowd, the laughs—
hey stepper, whatcha doin’ there?
No use trying to escape
what you can’t change,
whirling away from their stares—
my good heel hitting hard
against the asphalt.