Saturday, 11 June 2011

One morning

a one armed man with a trilby on

trotted past our transom twenty times.

I asked him in - and sat him down.

‘Gi’ us some beer’ he said,

‘Gi’ us some grog;

the sun’s in the East’ he said

‘past 9 o’clock!’

I handed him four cans, he smiled,

‘I got a flock of mouths to feed;

a farm; chock-full of refugees’

‘Gi’ us some tins’ he said,

‘Gi’ us some wine;

the sun’s in the West’ he said

‘Opening Time’

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