Poem # 93 No turn left unstoned.

No turn left unstoned

I nearly hit the large wombat on the gravel
road where it dips to the creek.
The light filtered by the stringy bark was thin
in the evening hours.
The big ute drifted with no traction
around the bend and even though I steered
into the skid I completed a 180 before I stopped
headlights pointing in the direction from which
I had come.
This road is way too dangerous, I thought,
I need a beer.
On its own the radio was picking up a weak
station fading in and out. Country and western.
Something about a weekend at a rodeo that
went awry.
I imagined a cement bunker and a lone
radio tower with a blinking red beacon,
personally transmitting to me from an island
in the middle of a dam.
I leaned an elbow on the sill and settled in
for the rest of the drive. Fate.
It was meant to be.
God was watching out for me,
not wanting me yet