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Blind Bend

Shortly after Davey died

my mate Ron

pulled alongside on his B.S.A.

to lean across and say

Fancy a ride?

Course I did.

 

We drove the road

that Davey did,

though he’d had a crazy mate

Ron was steady,tested, tried,

would not flip us to the other side.

 

And so I saw the road

unwind in slow time,

but in my mind

through Davey’s eyes.

Davey curled to the curve

of the boy’s spine,

bliss – pumped.

 

To the bend, the lean,

the oh – so – slow car,

the swerve

 

to the lamppost

where he broke,

which, innocent of our bones,

flowed past as we sped home

to become old men

headlonging to our own

blind bends.

Published inPoetry

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