Cycle ride
between the lawnmowers and the deep-freeze
I unhook my bike and bounce it off the concrete floor
we’re going on a cycle ride
let’s take the Quaterlands Road to the towpath
stand up on each pedal
ring ring ring the bell
gravel rattles mudguards to the gate
two gardeners from the long grass call
look out for cars and don’t be late
race you to the crossroads
into Mrs Pedlow’s shop
change pocket money into liquorice
we’re on our way
it’s a sunny day
the straps on our saddlebags flap
the Hillhall bus is at the bus stop
it must be three o’clock
if we’re going to go where we want to go
we’d better hurry up
the long slow curve of the main road
cuts flat the countryside
after finishing off the sherbet
we put down our heads and ride
hug the kerb
hold steady for lorries
count telephone poles as they pass
school uniform lurks in the cupboard
September is lost in the past
and then we turn off
down the Quaterlands
pedal like mad and glide
whizz over the shuck at the bottom
glimpse the swamp where we used to hide
suddenly next it’s the big hill
the one we can never get up
wiggle and wobble and waggle
waggle and wobble and stop