falling off a horse

she shows me her arm,

the long thick scars

where it broke

in five

places

after falling off her horse

at the age

of ten. she tells me

how her father drove

her in his old MG,

butter yellow,

with the black top down,

hitting every bump in

the road, every pot hole,

as they sped

to the veterinarian.

no, dad, she said. i'm

hurt, not the horse

this time.

to which he said,

full of dark beer

and smoke,

taking the cigarette

out of his mouth, 

oh, of course. right.

which arm is it this

time my dear?