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Scotsman’s Bane January 23, 2008

Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Poetry.
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Dropping Bombay Currymint

redoubtable aroma lifting from my nostrils

penetrating the pedestrian air, still, almost languid,

humid nearly to mist.

Dunhill boot smoke pushed out beyond my lips

my eyes look side to side feeling

like a ruddy schoolboy with a fag on the sneak.

My lungs heave with the breath of Manchester smokestacks

and I have no doubts about succumbing holding the freedom

that I can’t possibly know the moment when.

I can long for the Shetlands but situations don’t improve from it

and it’s been years since Toft and Yell and I can’t remember Wick

or much of it other than the double malt and ancestors’ boasting.

I might wish I came here to immigrate, but I’m just visiting,

working stiff from a factory farther south than I could imagine

when I was a child…a child…I fling the fag into a pond.

Now I am squat in an alley between the foundry and infirmary

contemplating a future filled with the past.

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