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'You Never Said It's A Race, Dad!'

Oh, but it’s a race all right, trust me, kid, that

hill he almost managed to beat you to the

top of (“Rubbish!”) challenged him more than you, de-

spite all the picnic


stuff he made you carry in your Batman rucksack.

It’s a race to find all the spare parts, becoming

antiques, puzzling kids in the bike shop while you’ve

multiplied years like


gear ratios; slipping cables, missing

chain links, pedals going around faster but the

landscape’s keeping pace with his hunched shadow

even though you’re nudging his


rear wheel; love ballasts his panniers.

You imagine the peloton behind you, scattered by your

wake; while his has vanished round the next un-

fathomable bend.

Australian Book Review, 'States of Poetry' website March 2017

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