I come from the north,
From grey harling, drizzled crags and scree.
Dandelion and burdock.
Engage low gear now.
Bacon for breakfast.
Breaking in your boots.
Passing places and bloody tourists.
The library’s parquet gleam.
Peewits and feral cats.
Toasted arse against the Aga.
Wellies and broken veins.
Creosote on the fence.
Shirt smeared brown.
You’re ladgeful, lass.
Rushing fleece on indigo dusk.
Skeined geese fly
South to where the sun shines,
Back for the holidays.
Don’t forget to shut the gate.
Pie-ku