poem

THE TRANSMISSION OF SIR RONALD BELFORD SCOTT

It was a time I never knew existed until now

a crowd at the Myer Bowl held transfixed

raw sound raw power missing teeth

and a denim bulge

I can get closer than most though

Because I can see a little girl running like a rabbit

trying to turn back time and

make the cells normal please

I can see how rough it is

compared to the soft sandstone bluffs of an Iowa river

the leash has been broken here

and this sun has declared itself different

from the one that blinds the Queen's dogs

Can I hold you and tell you that everything will be all right?

Your racing heart beats your mind

but your mind beats your body and leaves it on a lucky beach

somewhere under the broken Southern Cross

where tin cans of beer are drunk by blonde boys

scared of failure

I was too young then to travel on my own

let alone fly in like a bird of all things

but now I am able to move freely about the cabin

to hold your hand to kiss your forehead and to feel the heat

escape his crown

I tell him it is o.k. to go and that

I am the freak who will keep his little girl safe

from the lawlessness of a distant outpost