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