when I was riding my bicycle
it was doing the work
of being ridden
across Redcatch Park in Autumn
I crossed the line where I’d fallen
onto my right arm in July heat and fell
at the feet of a man and his innocent toddler
who loomed over me
who focussed her shining eyes on me
where I sprawled in
a puddle from the rain
that must have arrived and left

sometime
in the night
that night when
I had awoken
with a start riding my bicycle
it was doing the work
of being ridden
across my bed in Autumn
and I had crossed the line
where I’d fallen
in the park, in my dream,
in the rain
which must have arrived and left
the day after my fall, when
the sore arm, the cut and scraped arm
sprawled across the arm
puddled and scraped in July
when I had ridden doing the work
always doing the necessary
work.

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