RIDING DOWN HILL ON A BICYCLE
From the top corner the hill curved
slight at first the sharper
down, down to the road and the green-brown river.
Here we stood, school-bags heavy,
eyes slit - squinting racers ready
for the off.
Our pre-school thrill - excitement only
for the few -
those whose nerves held taut -
laid flat against the frame
and plunged head down,
wind whistling past our watering eyes,
hair streaming dares to an empty sky.
Purpose found in excitement
diving on until
far behind, blinded by our cries,
someone missed the turn,
fingers clutching gravel,
eyes blank with terror, beneath the bus,
alone on the hillside
and we, who escaped the horror,
crossed the bridge
to learn of death..
If you've any comments on his poems, Alan
Papprill would be pleased to hear