Spat forth from the firths that rupture
the coast; coasting on pretty
And resting on witty improvisations as
cultured habituation strips the straps
of Highland pride.
Soaked, sodden, frost bit and down
trodden. Who would want to live here?
Aye, the beaches are pleasant when God
disnae send a hell bent torrent of dog shit
mingling and sticking to your shoe.
The Northern womb within which I flinched
and twitched tiny fists to clench the
passive aggressive stench of
Timidity. Dumb struck stupidity
imprints all the hints of hypocrisy that
swarm my senses.
I can only watch
your lips move across each gum and tooth:
residue spittle, aloof, tickling the
light and I can only watch myself listen
To The Same Old Shite.
Sparrows chatter and scrap whilst corbies
know better – calm your tits boys!
It doesn’t get better.
Fractured ego cowering amongst the
bruised heroes of days past by far.
Watching drowned mists and heavy haar.
Remind myself of this;
We were the first to batter a Mars bar.
