Wednesday Afternoons in Agnew Park

Rain batters the loch sour,
albatross ferries call, Anywhere but here.

We’re kagouled to the hilt, ready for action,
but promenade bollards shout, No to wheelchair bikes!
We reset, ride off widdershins through the park.

Round and round, round and round,
making our own luck without the sun’s approval,
laughing so hard even swans gawp.

We’re the blades of a wind turbine,
the sweep of an imperfect enso,
spiraling counterclockwise into ammonite labyrinths.

The earth’s own smell sweetens the air,
grass ripples in Mexican waves as we pass,
brown birds chant, Nowhere but here.