Tom always dressed in faded clothes 
a step or two short of rags 
so other people would give him money. 
he did odd gardening jobs 
fell off a ladder 
onto his hip 
ended up in a wheelchair 
which fit with his attire 
and a scraggly grey beard 
that looked 
like it would move on its own accord. 

he couldn’t walk 
but Tom most certainly drove. 
no one 
was going to limit him to two wheels 
come hell or high water. 
he kept his car parked up the hill. 
a white Chrysler 
old and worn as his wardrobe. 
somehow 
that car held together without duct tape 
but definitely with a prayer or two. 
the fact it moved at all 
was an act of God, 
though it was a glacier floating past 
slow and inevitable. 

how Tom 
got downhill once he parked 
I wouldn’t have believed 
had I not seen it. 
he coasted downhill in his wheelchair 
out to break 
maybe his neck and a speed record, 
long grey hair 
streaming behind him, 
wearing 
the widest grin you could imagine. 

Bio: Jonathan Yungkans