Ootside The Pub

O is for
Ootside The Pub
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Tenements stood like broken black teeth
The cold rain smirrs down on the ill lit street
Pot holes fill up
The light reflected on the oil
Like dead rainbows
Noise booms out of the corner pub
Expletives explode
Behind the Victorian dor
Shapes move laughing and cursing
Ah fuckin telt ye
It wiz three nuthin tae Celtic
A piano tinkles in the background
Get us a wee hauf Alex
Pay packets are broken into
Bevvy for five hours
Before a fish supper at the Tallies
This is Gorbals
In Glasgow
The wee lassie cowern, in the pub doorway
Picking her nose and
Waiting for her dad
To lurch out
Take her by the hand
And buy her a poke of chips: