Those who come home

I am sorry, I cannot use my arms, but I can work.

I am sorry, I cannot use my legs, but I can work.

I am sorry, I cannot see, but I can work.

I am sorry, I am a little jittery, but I can work.

Please, can you give me a job?

Please, I need a job.



I am sorry you cannot use your arms; we have nothing for you.

I am sorry you do not have any legs. We need you to stand for long hours.

I am sorry you cannot see. All of our work is visual.

I am sorry that you are not stable, but you have to interact with others.

I am sorry; we do not have a job for you.



I cannot reach into my pocket for bud fare; someone is kind and helps, then steals it.

I cannot roll in the snow; the tires of my wheelchair keep slipping.

I cannot see. My touch stick hits a curb. I step off and a car nearly hits me. The driver screams.

I cannot talk to others because I get angry. I sit alone in the corner of a restaurant.



My hand is out hoping someone will take it and help.

My hand is out for help, not sympathy.

My hand is out reaching for life.

My hand is out, hoping for a smile.