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[only person known to have been struck by a meteor]



talk about wrong place at the wrong time.

Out watering the petunias on a golden summer’s

evening, when out of a clear sky...

That glancing, blackened bruise on her hip

like a shark’s taken a bite out of her

and disliked the taste.

On the other hand an inch or two

to the right and she’d be a goner.

Space dust. She picks herself up.

Could’ve made a mozza

on the live chat show circuit,

but given it’s the fifties

and colour tv’s only just been invented

there’s probably hoovering to be done.

The mess that meteor’s made of the front

yard, on its way to one in a billion.

Poor Ann. Just her luck.

Alien germs all over her.

Scrubbed down in the radiation tent.

Ruined a good dress too.