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by amy dugmore

for Lisa

Every time I see you, before we know it,

we’re back on our tandem bicycle, perched

on that glossy scarlet frame with seats

for just us two – we’re zipping

across terrain both old and new, in synch

so fast that others leap back

from the crimson flash, the blinding chrome

not sure what they’ve just missed –

we leave them kerbside, tasting grit –

a velocity of sisters rising, my spokes

are your spokes, your spokes are mine and we’re flying

faster hurtling headlong, we’ve lost them

all to the dual motion of two pairs of legs

on two pairs of pedals, ourselves doubled

then doubled again in the gleam of steel

endlessly twinning – others would brace

for the brakes, not us – here we go, no warning

bell no way to divide one half from the other

no way to swerve and I no longer know

which one of us is steering though

I grip the handlebars tight hold on —


Amy Dugmore is a writer and content marketer based in Birmingham, UK. She has written about everything from education and marketing to health and bereavement. Her work is forthcoming in Under My Pillow anthology. You can find her on Twitter @AL_Dugmore


Image by Bree Anne
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