The light cast by the setting sun reflects off the warm ocean
bending around you and me
Our figures slide over ripples of triumph
leaving a mist of ocean spray behind the boards

Spray of mud behind the wheels
as pedals whirr we pick up speed
Down the hill our bodies shake
until we finally hit the jump

You jump and spin, stick in hand
snapping up my wild throw
Twisting your body towards the goal
a flash of hands and metal; we hear the crack of the net

A crack in your bone the X-ray shows.
How could it happen; a broken leg but spring at hand.
I see you hobble from room to room
drag yourself painfully up the stairs
Will it ever be the same?
I think of better times.
Damian.