'Late'.

'Late'.

     It’s half past fower, A cannie sleep fur thoughts runnin through ma nogin.

     The auld cab hustae be at the coachworks fur her bodywork is boggin .

“ Noo don’t be late,  ya bugger yie, fur A’ll be staunin waitin.”

Wiz Walters partin words tae me, when we finished negotiatin.

Well up A goat at six a cloack, mair time than a lag fae Saughton.

A wiz batterin up the motorway like a jet flyin oot Brize Norton.

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It’s an awffie thing A’ve noticed, aboot cloaks and the pace they keep tae,

It’s supposed tae be a constant, somethin they no  tae deviate fae.

Their haunds seem hardly movin, and they run at a fair wee constant.

Till yi’ve a place oan time yie huvtae be, and which really is important.

Roond they go like the clapper’s ae hell, or the wheels oan a racin motor.

or the tongue ae a southern democrat when he's cornered a republican voter.

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Well there A wiz oan the motorway, tickin ower and ahint a big lorry.

There’s nae wey noo  A wid be oan time, A wid huvtae say A wiz sorry.

A could say “ A burst a tyre, A loast ma way, A wee wuman hud a baby.”

Naw, that’s nae guid, that wullnae dae, it aw sounds a wee bit shady

A’ll phone the bugger up the noo, jist tae keep him in the picture.

A’ll tell him that A’m tryin ma best but A cannae be oanny quicker.

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"Eh! Hello there Walter how are you? It’s me the Weefatfella.

A’m gonnie be a wee bit late, yie see, A forgoat ma umbarella.

A tried ma best, tae be oan time, A clock-watched all the night.

A tossed and turned, A rolled aboot, A near gave the wife a fright."

“Och that’s okay, don’t fash yirsell, relax, and don’t even bother,

Fur you're no booked in fur the day, you’re no due till the morra."

Copyright©Weefatfella. 2016