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December 16, 2013



So scared was I,

I could not breathe.

I thought my eyes

did me deceive.


It hit me like

a thunderbolt.

The realisation

made me jolt.


I could not scream.

I was struck dumb.

My hands did shake,

though my fingers numb.


I left my body for a time.

Crowds came to ogle,

as though there had

been a crime.


It’s human nature,

but I, like them,

could see the blood,

which would not stem.


The park swing had hit me

with full pelt,

and around me now

the people knelt.


That’s when my soul

returned to me.

My head, it throbbed.

I could not see.


Some said ‘she’s dead’.

Some said ‘Not quite’.

‘A faint pulse is there,

she might be alright’.


Their voices then,

drifted away.

No further recall

of that day.


I awoke in hospital,

my head clean shaven.

The Padre stood there,

saying ‘He’s a brave un’.


‘He’ll be up playing

cricket, in a bit’.

My Father weeping,

then had to sit.


My Mother, in disgust,

gave the Padre a look from hell.

Saying ‘He, is a she –

can you not damned well tell’?


‘He meant well, Dear.’

my pacifying Father said,

with his hands on his head,

and his face now bright red.


Even more tension built

when the surgeon appeared,

he saw Mothers face,

and on his back heals reared.


Having no alternative,

and feeling trapped.

He said he could operate,

but I might finish up tapped!


There was a chance his scalpel

might touch my brain,

and forever in limbo,

I could remain!


The operation over,

I was home within a week.

They watched me like a hawk,

in case slurred words, I did speak.


The first time we ventured outside,

had Mother out of her wits.

We saw a woman from the next street,

who thought that I had NITS!


and suggested to my Mother,

a good lotion at a cheap price,

that was gentle on the scalp,

whilst removing all head lice!


My Mother went ballistic,

in her usual protective, volatile way.

I then wore a blue and white footy bob hat,

until my hair grew back one day.














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