Cirque du SSI

I have given up. I know that's what they want, The bureaucrats who giggle with glee As they set the hoops ablaze, Lining them up in a maze, Each hoop higher than the last And further-- So much further-- As their backlog continues to grow. We pile like acrobats, Though nothing as agile, Mounds of weary bodies Crushing one another while we wait For the privilege of trying A--not entirely impossible-- Flip through the next hoop Hoping beyond hope for the rarest cheer, A slap on the back from the ringmaster And a big, fat check that reads Social Security Administration, Disability back pay. But the ringmaster frowns. "You did it upside down, Your smile too proud, The grimace of pain and the choked scream When your hand touched the flames Not loud enough. "You're obviously fine If you could handle that jump. Go get a job, you lazy cunt, So instead, you can pay us." I heave a sigh And turn to the highest hoop, A lion named Wells Fargo Nipping at my heels, As I find my balance standing On the hands of a family made of friends. The one of blood dropped me long ago. I look to the strong man at my side; He joined me two hoops back. There's a crowd of them On the edge of the ring, Offering a helping hand only To the ones who look broken enough. They'll carry you through the maze, Toss you through the higher hoops. You only have to hold the barbell With weights called Stress, Anxiety, The Wait, And give them a cut of the check. "The last hoop," I sigh. "How long will it take?" But my strong man's too busy With another sad case. His clown of an assistant (She does most of the work) Squints against the flicker And glare of gas lights. "It's hard to say, But no more than a year." I try not to blink As the tears sting my eyes. I first tackled this circus five years ago, Faltering when no strong man Would reach out a hand. It's been three years since I joined up again. "And the ringmaster?" I ask. "What might she say? Will we get the check If I clear the hoop? If at last someone sees That I'm not able?" The clown shakes her head. "This ringmaster doesn't write checks. She can only send you back, Two hoops if we're lucky, Same judge as before. That, or it's all the way Back to the start." I nod my thanks, unable to speak As the tears break The barrier of my lower lashes. Two hoops ago, it took six months Just to learn when it would be my turn. That ringmaster ignored my doctor Who said I can work Maybe two hours a day. The employment expert Waiting in the wings Was also ignored When she said no organ grinder Would keep a monkey like me, With how often I'd fail To show up for the dance. The next hoop was just as bad. My strong man was late; A couple more months in the bag. Notes from my surgeon-- Which I had to get myself-- Explain the ticking time bomb In the back of my head, A nerve grown through muscle Instead of around, Hiding since my mother's womb, Lying in wait 'til my twenties Before making a sound. If we'd found it earlier Things might have been different. The collection of ringmasters At the next-to-last hoop Remained unimpressed, Despite my strong man Pointing out the previous Ringmaster's mistakes. "What mistakes?" They asked, Not waiting for a reply. "Her decision was perfect. Now get out of the way; We've got to ruin the day For a lot of other people." I wipe away tears As the clown walks away And weigh my options. My job didn't pay into the circus When I could still work, So I can't hope for the fatest check That would let me live in basic poverty Instead of well below abject. I take my pocket computer That does all my math And do some calculations. With the longest wait Since my last application, At the highest monthly rate, If I manage to convince The same judge as last time, Minus the strong man's fee-- I'm looking at four and a half years Of back pay totalling less Than my old job paid per year. I put down my phone As my hands begin to shake And the tears of despair Heat with rage. This is what I'm fighting for? Less than most people's rent, Not to mention the strings attached. I've crunched these numbers before, But in the face of another eighteen months-- Eighteen months of waiting, Eighteen months of stressing, Eighteen months of staving off creditors, Eighteen months of minimal medical care, Eighteen months of holding back tears Every time I think, This isn't fucking worth it. And I realize It isn't. The circus isn't worth it. I look to the people holding me up: My family of friends, My lover; At the smiles as they say, "Don't worry; we've got you." I look at the woman I want to be my wife And realize We don't have to wait, Wait for laws to change, For disabled marriage to finally be equal. I finally realize I'm okay, And I'll be okay. I can put down the barbell And all of the weights; I can step down from the balancing act, Put my feet on the floor And holding the hand of my fiancee, Walk out And leave the circus behind. My strong man calls out; I send him off with a wave. The ringmasters smile in triumph, But their smiles can't match The joy of my own As at last, I step into the light.