Cats & Dugs
Doon Blackness brae, thon castle,
a big stane ship smirred in mist,
slate-grey Firth snarlin at her knees.
We could’ve happed-up, gallus
agin the hurlin rain, or, stayed in the motor,
hypnotized by windae wipers,
Pogues beltin fae the radio.
We could’ve clambered tae the tap,
an like Titanic’s Rose & Jack
leant fu tilt intae the wind,
baith wings spread wide.
But naw –
we sprint tae the pub, corner table,
nurse a warm pint, shelter
in this blue lagoon, aw fishy-like
wi nets, mermaids, boats an stuff,
a collie dug smirkin fae the ceilin.
Mair wild-eyed folk pile in,
storm-slick wi craws-nest heids.
We could’ve been mair hardy –
it’s jist a wee bit wind & rain,
an we’re Scottish efter aw!
Then she whispers,
Am no fussed fur the castle, it wiz the view –
thon new bridge, like a cats-cradle
spun fae spiderweb . . .
So, we order anither beer -
we could’ve hud fish & chips,
but couldnae mak up wur minds.