Who has the Handicap?

He sits tied securely in his wheel chair, arms and legs flailing the air,

You try to avoid staring as his mother seeks to give him a drink.

It has spilt everywhere – all over him, the floor, the mother’s jacket.

Food and drink and saliva are running down his chin.

You turn the other way pretending not to notice …..

He smiles as you walk toward him longing for your touch,

Longing for your smile in response to his.

But you fail to read his message,

You fail to see the longing in his heart for you to notice him;

To look beyond that broken and distorted body

And see the true person he is.

For your eyes see only the mouthful of unswallowed food as he beams his broad smile.

Who has the handicap, I wonder?