He clutched the neighbor’s forgotten wallet
as if he’d thought long and hard
about this very moment
though he hadn’t counted on a fortress
of stairs, or my staggering into the courtyard,
the word help hanging in the air
like an offence, becoming tangled
in the nakedness of winter
and the wheelchair in need of oiling,
in my overeager insistence
to relieve the uselessness
of being, all my failed attempts,
though he wasn’t buying any of that shit
and never even bothered
to say thank you.