Kurt Lurvey parks in his wheelchair
at the front door to St. John’s Church
and repeats, over and over,
“Have a nice day.”
Clearly he does.
His congregation must.
I watch nearby to stay out of his way.
He wears a blue life jacket
when he vacations with dolphins at Key West.
A mammal tries to kiss him
on the lips, but he turns away.
The fish came up right behind me,” Kurt grins.
“I grabbed his flap.”
His buddies with Downs syndrome
push him in a hollow plastic wheelchair
at Hampton Beach. They struggle
to reach the breaker line.
I stand a little farther out.
Kurt chair-surfs in the Atlantic,
howling with his arms high in a thunderous
roar that summons thirty
swimmers to his Atlantic proceedings.
He steers his wheelchair under a gentle
mare at the UpReach Stable, brushing her belly
and chest in a bonding ritual. I help.
He woos his partner in a low voice,
and leads her to the loading platform.
The lift at the top transfers him to the saddle.
Volunteers spot him through a dozen gates.
He aims his right hand at the roof,
his left on the reins, then raises both.
