My brother came roaring into the yard
at such a speed I'd never seen before--
standing above the seat, legs pumping hard,
and only me between him and the door;
I shuffled right--my brother turned the bars;
then left--he jerked them back, a devil's dance;
and then the impact--breathlessness and stars;
blood stained my shirt, and more than mud my pants;
Ron tells the story still: "an accident."
He tried to dodge, but I fled in his way.
Bad luck, sure, but no malicious intent;
We were just kids--such happens every day.
He laughs--too much, I think--voices insist
that part of him is sorry that he missed.
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