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Song of the Little Cripple at the Street Corner

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Maybe my soul’s all right.   
But my body’s all wrong,   
All bent and twisted,   
All this that hurts me so.   

My soul keeps trying, trying   
To straighten my body up.   
It hangs on my skeleton, frantic,   
Flapping its terrified wings.   

Look here, look at my hands,   
They look like little wet toads   
After a rainstorm’s over,   
Hopping, hopping, hopping.   

Maybe God didn’t like   
The look of my face when He saw it.   
Sometimes a big dog   
Looks right into it.

Source: Poetry (April 2006)

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This poem originally appeared in the April 2006 issue of Poetry magazine

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Song of the Little Cripple at the Street Corner

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