long-weekend statistics

Sorry Mum.

On rubber skates my car and I,
we raged upside the road one night;

Lightning lit cattle flashed under
branches howling back at thunder;

Dividing Range, I did not see
the forking bolt, the fallen tree,

Eyes focused on far-off smoke stacks,
I did not hear the whip that cracked;

For this is all that happened, see:
shock snapped my spine in twos and threes;

Four by fours dominoed in line
behind the twisted wreck of mine;

And bits of me stuck red and dark
to dry against warm Stringybark.

The smashed in skulls of statistics,
those crushed ribs beneath Forty Licks

T-shirts now torn and bloodied, oh,
Mum, I never even saw snow.

 

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