Enabled <br /> <br />for Charles Delaine Bradsher, Sr. <br /> <br />1. <br /> <br />He’s smaller now. He never was that tall, <br />too short for top-shelf pots, or basketball, <br />though at the Y—at lunchtime—there he was, <br />launching a shot amid the bigs, because <br />a man with limitations either ends <br />disabled dreams or, grasping hold, ascends. <br /> <br />2. <br /> <br />He’s taller now. Two strokes (and age) combined <br />to wilt an arm, a leg, but not his mind, <br />fighting the loss of an ischemic crash <br />to rise above the dross and ember-ash, <br />helping the doubters see and understand <br />a man with Phoenix-feathers in his hand.<br /><br />David Nelson Bradsher<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/enabled/
