Not The Whole Story

I made friends with a girl sat in a wheelchair.
She looked so happy, I wanted to join the fun,
laugh with her too. She asked me to push her
as her arms were like jelly. It was easy and she
glided like a swan on the shiny, smooth floor
in our school hall, but it’s not always like that
she told me. Pavement slabs could trigger an
earthquake and sometimes her arms and legs
were scratched by branches sticking out along
the path, if no one saw. When we moved to go
and play outside, the giant step near the door
held us up. We had to wait for the ramp, so we
spent time talking about our favourite hobbies.
Most of all, she loved the watercolour paints;
painted everything, even her wheelchair rode
into the pictures. She’d used one for many years.
But it became really boring when they couldn’t
find the ramp and left us stuck by the door gazing
at the noisy playground, wishing we could join in.
We opened the biscuits. There was time for more.