The dual use path moseyed on,
tracing the crags and grottos of
eroded cliffs beside the river.
Tender shrubs in private gardens
their roots swaddled in loam
lined the high side
and faced off low-side scrub
that clutched with scuffed roots
at broken limestone.
Rainbow lorikeets squabbled
over a nesting hollow and wagtails
harried marauding crows.
A child in a garden pulled a silly
face and I smiled amiably.
Rounding a curve, I met a fellow
pedestrian head on and for a few
seconds we mirrored each other’s
evasive steps like Elizabethans
dancing a galliard.
‘Idiot’, he muttered, unfairly
because I’m not.
I felt less amiable.
Five minutes later, another weirdo
called me a name too: ‘Bicycle!
Bicycle! ‘ he yelled, zeroing in
behind me like a torpedo.
‘Am not! You are! ‘ I yelled back
as he pedalled away.
I’m nothing like a bicycle.
I’m taller and more intelligent.
I felt cross.
Then I thought some more
about bicycles; about how they’re
kind of lean and racy and have nice
bells and it struck me that maybe
he’d meant it as a compliment
so I belatedly called out ‘Thankyou! ‘
I was happy again.
On the wild side I spied
the soft yellow ears of donkey orchids
pricked to listen to the idle slap of
water against moored yachts.
I’d like to buy a donkey.
I think I will.
I’ll ride Temerity (for that shall be her name)
on the meandering dual use path
and when I see pedestrians ahead
I’ll spur her up to a mad trot.
The jounce will add vibrato and
tremolo to my voice as I thunder up
behind them yelling ‘Ass! Ass! ‘
and I’ll be extra happy.
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