In hospital us broken boys,
With injuries from games,
And cars and bikes,
Swap stories of our journeys here.
Tied and splinted,
Roped and tractioned to our beds,
Sharing tales of blood and gore,
And busted bones out loud.
Tony, with his yellow skin,
And grey ringed eyes speaks last,
In soft and wounded brummy,
Here’s his parting shot.
Driving home post party pissed,
Through leafy suburbs hit a tree,
Smashed himself to meaty pieces,
Though heart, lungs and liver lived
Removed from there he’d died five times in ICU,
Been brought right back,
And slowly healed in tiny steps,
While his mum and dad decayed before his eyes.
“I was wild before,” he said
“not any more” as tears came
“My mum and dad are fucked,
Because of me.
And when I leave tomorrow,
I’m gonna buy myself an axe
And I’m gonna go and fell,
That fucking tree .”