Free verse № 114724
Poems for devolution
I
We turn the clocks forward
for more light,
for the scottish farmers
not doubt. In the highlands,
red jowls chewing on gristle.
Their strange climate
they can keep.
II
A strange climate you have;
rain on a handful of heads
in spartan highlands,
we all get the forecast.
In those couple of minutes
we could have had Rhyl's.
13 comments
Dropping haggis-eaters (or adding more) would make it better.
As for the haggis bit. I don't really want to get rid of it (the poem is meant to descend into farce) but I may have to. I want there to be an underlying sense of petty hostility from the narrator.
good work
peace,
sean
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