There were no handicap parking spots when I was a child
No special doors with metal sleeve push buttons
wider and electronic to open on ‘sesame’
To bring Mom into a movie theatre my dad had to carry her
haul her sideways into the doors
plop her down in a red cushioned chair
wrap the Velcro brace around her neck
me following behind, pushing the empty wheelchair
I drive into the mini mart and notice the van pulling into the blue wheelchaired spot
My mind always back to Mom
and her wheelchair
her body draped in my dad’s capable arms
carrying her through doors everywhere
I stop to watch and see who comes out
This time, a man, who’s running
ducking his head from the rain
that hits him like bullets
I stand still
remain outside getting wet as he disappears inside
Walking over to the rust-stained van
the handicap placard still swinging from the rear-view mirror
I write on the rain-soaked window with my index finger
Die – Die – Die
until he comes back out
I walk past him
imagine tripping him as he hurries with arms full of bags
smiling politely, as I pass by