Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Me an That Joon

Did ye hear aboot that Joon wha bides doon the Hull,
Sh’wiz foond dade this moarnin in a bath that was phul,
Mind, she went oot wi that hoodie that wiz intae that rap,
They got meltit th’gither an thieved fae the Gap.

Sh’wiz a bonnie lass afore a that,
Now she’s left that bairn alane in that flat,
She sung at the Kirk when she wiz jist a lassie,
Far creh fae th’day when her ehz turned ah glassy.

At the Highwayman, she sung like Whitney,
Efter watchin her faither aye dae Gene Pitney.
Och, sh’hid pipes like the wind through the heather,
An she eyewiz hid time fir a fag an a blether.

Anyweh, you get back tae Jeremeh Kyill,
Yer trackie’s near dreh and yer tea’s in a whyill,
Get back tae the news an shoutin at nations,
Flickin through blame while ye flick through the stations.

Aye, an spout the twa lines ye ken frae The Man,
But treh tae remember, Joon’s life’s doon the pan,
An a parcel o rogues?
Jist mair moths tae the flame,
Coz Agnes is fillin her bath jist the same,
Droonin her troubles an burnin her hay,
As that stream in the backgroond just bubbles away.

©  Craig Guthrie

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More poetry and prose by Craig Guthrie can be found HERE