I Guess We Are an Item

 

Clarissa makes a beeline,

Whenever she sees me,

She can’t talk and I don’t much,

But when she enters the room or I do,

And our eyes meet,

She wheels across the room,

And boards me pirate fashion,

Wheelchair hub to hub.

 

She’s perfectly able,

To navigate around me

All she has to do,

Is swing to the right,

And then make a sweeping left turn,

In back of my chair,

And that’s when I tell her,

Good girl Clarissa, good girl.

 

But it’s the social interaction she’s after,

The equivalent of touching hands,

So she makes the leftward swing too late,

Bumping and grinding repeatedly,

And all the time looking deep into my eyes

I guess we’ve got something going.