10 November 2020. Springhill Road, Port Kembla.

After it happened,
some stayed in their cars
some got out and stood
and those closest
did for him.
They eased him from
the crumpled frame, straightened
his leg, the crazy angle
the bone shard
—dear Jesus.
Gently they edged him
from the shattered kerb
to the lawn, still
soaking from
last night’s rain.
Someone pressed their shirt
to the wound in his side
another stood
by his head and
shaded his eyes.
Someone started breathing for him
their mouth on his
the iron from his lips:
obedient his chest rose
and fell.
He said something then
too quiet—the sky.
They said hang in there mate
hissed where’s the ambulance?
Sirens in the distance.
Sometimes he appeared
tiny, a broken handful;
sometimes he was vast
a landscape of
fractures and pools.
By the time the ambulances
came on that early spring day
the medics had to ease
their hands from
their holding.
Up the hill the traffic
coal trucks and half-cabs
crawled but here it was quiet
wind in the plane trees
and they stood
together a moment longer
hands now helpless
as he was raised
in his ruin
through the morning air.
Image: From the crash site, Springhill Rd, Port Kembla c/- Adam McLean, Illawarra Mercury. A local tragedy.
And here’s the Australian Chamber Orchestra featuring Wollongong boy Richard Tognetti and his flying ‘strad.’ with Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending.
Goodness me.
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The road is dangerous for all its travelers.
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Humans run the gamut, from angels with skin to hooning (wo)manslaughterers. Beautiful music. Imagining her spirit’s ascent. Powerful writing, Peter.
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Wow a terrifying poem I hesitate to ask if it is based on a real event.
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Thanks Cathy, yes tragic event – and after three-days in an induced coma the cyclist died of his injuries.
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