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"The Single Parents’ Sunday Cycle" by Lucy Goldring



Smile uneasily while being dismayed that they’re all middle-aged

Remember, with profound disappointment, that you’re nearly thirty-nine

Swing between thinking you’re too cool and feeling distinctly un-hipster-y

Mount your borrowed bike, noticing too late that your saddle is tricycle-low

Regret the Tesco activewear

Consider – as sweat trickles down your crack – how life got so far off-track

Mourn the demise of your marriage (even though you’re better off alone)

Grapple with unfamiliar gears as your knees and elbows play pat-a-cake

Mutter a prayer for the drowning aphid sliding around your eyeball

Detect the scent of overboiled bratwurst… Realise it’s your polyester-mix armpits

Study the perfect behind of the woman in front

Visualise a blazing pyre for the Tesco activewear

Waffle about your absent son while trying not to cry…

Concede that Liv’s kids are obviously waaay more interesting

Skid on wet leaves into thick, nettly brambles while shrieking attractively

Grasp the clumsy hand of the Hot Nerd in Excellent Trainers

Retreat to unsniffable distance whilst complimenting his actually-not-gross activewear

Attempt, with nonchalance, to yank up your knee-high-to-a-salamander cycle seat

Sigh your relief when Hot Nerd timidly waggles his hex keys at you

Duck too late when he misjudges the trajectory of his toss

Cradle your throbbing eyeball while saying it’s fine

Smile genuinely and without dismay

Accept an invite to apology coffee

Settle yourself back in the saddle

Hold on 

Let go.


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