Trampoline

My cousin, also from the city, we
could jump on all day, the
trampoline eating with soaring absorption
energy in our toes. This was the
drive-in cinema on the edge of a
paddock for us, the air our gentle
headset, toes getting close to farm
ground but bouncy webbing caught
us staring so we barely got a sniff
of the cow action. Just tasted the
strange country flavour fairy-floss
in the natural white of cloud.
With no added preservatives the only
colouring was the plastic wrapping of
blue atmosphere. And you, cousin, you
sent me packing as we vied for
finer gulps of liquid Cirrus – pushed
me off and I flew, blacked out when
first I felt the factory paddock
floor. Concussed, dad was after some
compensation so I pretended I didn’t
know the time or day. There I never knew.

© 2000 Trout &
Will Fox