Folly of the Faithful Canine

I dreamed that I needed a wheelchair,
For reasons I never quite learned.
At first I was not very bothered,
But soon I was rightly concerned.

I wanted to exit the building,
Which meant going down a few floors.
The ramp that I found was restricted,
Blocked off by some strong metal doors.

A button that caused them to open
Was set in a faraway wall.
They closed long before I could reach them.
What good would this do me at all?

When searching revealed only stairways,
I turned to a stranger for aid.
The look on his face was uncertain.
Perhaps he would want to be paid.

I’ll never find out; the dream ended.
I hope that it never comes true.
My sleeping mind sure is a cynic
In terms of what people will do.