White Ted looked flat;
that hair and pyjama bed smell.
She was getting heavier
My bleary eyes trying not to sleep.
Bone protruded from flesh,
blooded the seat and gearstick;
leaning in best I could
to cannulate, set up drip by torchlight
as Firefighters started cutting.
She smiled and tightened her grip;
I kissed her forehead
still feeling the bitter cold.
Fluorescent coat bulkily hindering
as cracking metal sheered;
dressing the open bloody carnage.
Suddenly toast popped up,
"Have a good day at school" I said,
fighting my tiredness.
The mangled wreck still lingered
as I put my daughter down,
heading for bed, another shift tonight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem