On the seaside bench
provided by the council-
three local heroes
cradle their morning cans
and contemplate the Paps o' Fife,
Alas! No poetry in their life!
But joy! Whit joy, tae sit awhiles,
suppin thegither wi' sardonic smiles!
Yin day the meenister up yonder brae
came doon tae save oor heroes frae oblivion-
all pairt- he thocht- o' life's guid work
enhancing God's dominion.
The crab traps creaked
and the promenade puddled
as the man o, cloth descendit
tae interview the fuddled.
"Fine morning, my good men!"
fired frae point-blank range
this took oor Hokum Leeries by sy surprise...
"And how are we today?"
The first looked up wi' de'ilment in his eye
and said:-
"My dearest hope for now is when I die
I'll jine the Big Man's brewery in the sky!"
"Alky? No me" the second cried...
"I jist sit here wi' them
an while away the time -
as far as I'm concerned,
this life's jist fine!"
The third man didnae speak.
"Have ye seen the mural in the Burn's shelter?"
The meenister changed his tack,
"It's the tale o' Tam o' Shanter!"
And now warming to his creack, he mused:-
"I wonder if Burns ate Queenie oysters
quaffed wi' Fowler's Heavy?"
The first man:- "Aye! Tae hone his blade!"
The second:- "Aye! Burns liked his bevvy!"
At last the third man spoke:-
"Whae's MURIEL? BURNS? BURNS SHELTER?
So that's whit it is, Chrissakes!
It hasnae sheltered US -
We cannae force the gates!
John Lindsay, "The Lammermoor Poet"
Poet Laureate to Prestoungrange.
2005
