From the top field

farmer on high field He leans back against the top wire of the fence, arms folded, glaring over the paddocks down to the farm house.
That bloody green ute’s back – and yes, there’s Gloria climbing out the passemger window in last night’s finery.
Now leaning back in – probably locking lips with that no good son of the jerk farming the back block at the end of the hill country gravel road.

“Lazy young shite he is. That ute door’s been rusted shut for years, even from back before his dad gave it to him. And my Gloria has to latch onto him as her boyfriend. Wouldn’t mind if he had a job, or helped his Dad on their farm. But no, the high school rock band’s his major daily focus.
Oh, no!”

Even from up here he can see Gloria’s ball gown’s ripped through the back.
He straightens up, mounts the quad bike and sends it pell-mell down the slope, hoping to get there before the green ute pulls out and away.

“Manhandle my daughter, would you? Would you bloody not!”

 

The picturre was the inspiration for a ten-minute Quick-Write practice activity;
© Lynne R McAnulty-Street, Rotorua NZ, 2013 August

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