'Annie-Body's' Guide to Motorcycle Maintenance

about sex. a thousand poems in one sump

Late spring, when it was warm enough to wear a singlet only, but mornings still fresh, pricking goosebumps on the skin; and the full flush of colour along the coast road had swelled to a climax; where the surf crashed ecstatic upon itself; where the Pacific rolled over for all, but belonged to no-one; and eyes chased her like the wind: that's when she liked to throw a leg over the most. For a blast up the road, for a trick, for a rush! Hair in a sandy cascade - that's when she liked to ride. Never did once think to check the chain sometime, or the brakes: for one bend too slick, one wave too loose, one rip too strong in the tide...

Until she rolled into the salon one winter's day, hands still gloved but clutching rims: her pelvis pinned in eight places, and her arse welded to a wheelchair. "Oh, Annie..."
As she hauled herself up to the mirror, brow crushed deeper than her creased jacket, she finally geared down and groaned to a halt: "Cut it off. Cut it all off." Her voice rattled; a bead of brake fluid wobbling in her eye,

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Tremendous imagery. You paint this scene well.