Joe Goes (A Scottish Scat Reminiscence)

Jumping Joe Jehosophat,

 full throttle in the Railway Tav

(nineteen ninety three).

Go in there for ten years, six hours a day,

you’d see him squat, beguiling,

maybe buy him a pint

(he says ‘zimba’ in thanks),

tanked up as Jehosophat

(but was he, really?),

Caledonian scat man,

singing ‘rab dab doobar’

at the slightest opportunity.

Saw him once in a three piece suit,

nowhere near a court house,

but was too afraid to follow,

in case his mystique was blown.

Delphi Oracle of the lounge bar,

a Dundee Satchmo declaiming

to the crowd,

throws out syllables like

confetti at a wedding,

but with more effect.

Joe mighty in full flow

might be joyful for all we know

Ask him anything, the smile

arises on his Buddha bulldog chops.

‘What chances for the Bhoys

this Saturday?’

‘Flong taba!’ he decrees,

and that’s good enough for me.