From Billy Cart Hill
With a slope faster than a stomach,
Cheese grater tar
And T-intersection traffic to catch your fall.
I would drag my cart like a litter
Up guillotine steps to the top
And mount scary free like Lucifer felt
When God opened his forefinger and thumb
And let him drop.
I’m rolling, leaning back backboard pressing me earthward
Re-entering Earth’s atmosphere, gravel-rashed knuckles locked tight on rough rope reins held by horseshoe nails and pivoted on two washers, a bolt and nut, rattling like a boiling pot lid.
Feel the road typewritering morse code frantic relayed by thin rubber strip wheels through shrink skin wrapped bones, telex writer teeth with no carriage return biting off staccato cries shaken loose.
Screams my lungs letting go and
Wind tears face racing stripes.
Till I wrench the rope
Press wood lever against rear wheel
And jack-knife body to a rolling stop
Whooping winded and tingly alive.
On my ride, my release,
I left my life behind like
Rubber off my Dunlop Volleys.
The cart was a De Lorean
And as the landing pad bloomed
I forgot the dickhead, the dropped catch, the girl
As my speed turned back time.
Oh, how I want to live again like a thrown ball
The freedom of corked thighs and scabbed knees
When absolution smelt like iodine
And closure was a Band Aid
The perfect sense of handing control to
A piece of pine and a single bolt.
So that’s why I’m in Bunnings
Buying axles and rope
I’ve been climbing all my life and it’s time
I prised God’s fingers apart again
And lost some skin.