Up we climbed,
dipping and weaving,
the crack of my
exhaust, the boom of my brothers
tailing into the
bush, disturbing
the birdsong for a moment
only:
Then the road dropped down from the range
like an unravelled
piece of baling twine, and
as we rode it, the
perfection of life’s strange
beauty settled
upon us,
until we came to
the particular curve,
(the one that dropped
away and tightened),
my brother passed
while I, slowing
but not wanting to
be slow – fought the fear
in sight of flashing metal
and trees.
RMC
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