SPITTING IMAGE 1960

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 21, 2016

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Submitted: August 21, 2016

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Sit doon,
Mrs Scot said.

I looked around
the sitting room.

In th' armchair,
she added pointing
to an old armchair.

Will Hannah be long?
I said.

Hoo dae Ah ken,
she said,
walking off
into the passage,
smoke from
her cigarette
following after her.

I sat down
and looked around
the room.

HANNAH
TH' BOY'S HAUR,
she bellowed
from the kitchen.

Won't be long,
Hannah replied
from the bog.

I hoped Mrs Scot
would not return
to speak to me
without an interpreter.

Dornt keep heem
tay lang,
Mrs Scot said firmly.

I rubbed my crucifix
with my thumb
in my pocket.

The bog door unlocked
and Hannah came into
the sitting room:
sorry about that,
she said,
call of nature,
or as Mum says
caa ay nature.

She smiled;
I smiled weakly.

So where we going?
Hannah said.

There's a film
we can see,
I said,
if you've money,
or we can go swimming
in the swimming baths.

I've no money,
but swimming seems
a good idea;
I'll just get my stuff
and ask Mum
for a few pence.

So off she went;
I sat listening,
fingers held
in each other
forming a church
kind of thing.

Bunsens?
ye aye want bunsens,
her mother said.

Just a few pence
for the locker,
Hannah said.

Puckle bon
mah god,
her mother said.

I sat staring
at the wall
where a picture of man
in a kilt stared
back at me.

The resemblance
to Hannah's mother
and the man
was plain to see.


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