This poem is featured in the Lies, Dreaming Podcast #11 named Treasure. Click here to hear me read this poem.
It was like this…
We whaur raking for treasure this efternuin,
Doun the back of the bing,
The bit where ma Ma kin see us,
Frae ower the kitchen sink.
Buried doun beneath some foosty plastic bags-
Fou of someone else’s ‘sexy’ Tennent’s Extra cans,
We fund four wheels of a Silvercross pram.
We brought them hame and dunked them in a puddle by the kerb,
The drain gunk cleaned the rust up, they whaur looking quite superb.
Willie wis having a muck aroond –
Spinning the wheels, and ripping them
Roond and roond and roond,
Until the cauld muck spat
Intae the plumes
That our laughing made.
Oh, and then!
Willie chored a fence post frae oot the back eh Mr Bain’s
While I was shottie.
‘But it was Ian that made the bogie!’
And it was the best boggie the Fruit-and-Nut scheme had ever seen.
A pure dr-eeam.
He made the seat frae a scullery chair,
And drilled it tae a widden frame-
Remember? The fence post that Willie chored frae the back eh Mr Bain’s?
Then Willie – he bagged first go.
So he pulled the boggie up the hill.
Right oot the top of the street – and wow!
There I wis, racing him doun the hill like Seb Co
Aboot to cross the line –
And claim ma gold,
When Willies orange helmet slipped – or so am told
And the next thing I kent-
On the kerb –
And wi a skint knee.
And Willie –
He wis flying oor ma heed and
As you ken I was lying there – half deid
But the blooming bogie –
It didnae even ken tae stop,
into the back
Of Mr Law’s
New – fancy – Ford –
‘But is no oor fault officer – Ian never put any breaks on it. ‘