Getting in Touch with our Feminine Sides
It's morning and it's just the two of us
in the Transit crew-bus, driving out to work,
past dew-hung spruce, in this neck of the woods.
The floor is strewn
with chainsaws, chains, tools, grease-guns, tubes of grease
while the whole van stinks of sap and two-stroke mix.
I would screw my oil stained Maxproof coat up
into a ball
and try to grab some kip but today I just can't sleep.
And it's not the jolting over pot-holed roads
or the flare of light that's keeping me awake –
I'm worried sick.
Geoff is smoking pre-rolled Holborn roll-ups
by the barrow-load. He flicks the greasy butts
out of the narrow window slit and says,
frankly, not much.
The towering Sitka spin by, blue and gorgeous
in the warmth of the brilliant, early morning sun
and it's all so picturesque that I am overcome
with a desire
Read the rest of Tim Turnbull's poem here.
I found this collection of Best Scottish Poems, 2004 just casting about on the Web for modern Scottish poetry. I love the language; "Not clever," is a disparaging phrase I hear often here. This struck me as especially funny as I once made a statement much like this in my teen years, and my father heard me, and there was a great kerfluffle. He thought I was disrespecting my mother, sainted motherhood, something. Still strikes me as all very amusing.
Poetry Friday rolls on! If you're interested in hosting, October dates are available. Today's host is The Well-Read Child.