not all history is recorded

not all history is recorded
people’s lives pass by
without so much as a note;
a family holiday
pulled over to the side of the road
picnic spots carved from the bush
tall eucalyptus trees
an old barrel as a rubbish bin
or cricket stumps
called out dad
while mum spreads a blanket
hurry before the ants
chicken sandwich, orange cordial
watching the boys play
skirt tucked around her knees
longing for more than a dolly
the ball curves through the air
squealing breaks come to a stop
too late, flashing lights
mum’s screams fade into the distance
girls shouldn’t chase balls
was the last thing she heard
as the ambulance drove away;
now there is silence
for not all history is recorded.