Frankie's Shinbone

Frank was the one who always would be first and do wild things and when you asked him if he could fly with the bird that sings or dive in under foot thick ice jump into violent seas he was the toughest of us guys by ninety-nine degrees. On Sunday mornings we would go to Muller's Railway Crossing and put on our favourite show it beat the daily flossing. Our parents were so bloomin strict they had a thousand rules though inside our chests, there ticked a heart not made for fools. The game was CHICKEN and you had to dive across the tracks like someone who is raving mad or one who, sadly, lacks a normal brain with common sense and some kind of protection yet we would line up at the fence avoiding thus detection. The Ten-O-Four would pass right through it did not have to stop the twelve-Sixteen, E-5, it flew 180 was its top. The last one just before our lunch would amble in at one that one was slow and all our bunch had one big ball of fun. Things went okay and we were high and no one ever fell when Frankie, our toughest guy went when he heard the bell it was too late, we all got sick his leg stayed on the track if he had hurried just a tick he would have made it back with both his legs and not passed out and bleeding like a pig the Stationmaster, big and stout got out his giant rig a truck that ran on wooden fuel he fired it at speed and said that in a silly duel the train would win indeed. The doctor saved old Frankie's skin now fifty years have passed that day when he did lose his shin its memory will last.