Bed Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Bed
A bedsit nearhaun a lichthoose
In the North East's Bible Belt
Wis rented oot by Big Jim Taylor's chosen

Nicht an day the tinny record player
O the saved, blasted oot kintra an western hymns

I wis their tenant, a quine frae the toun
In their een an outsider, a heretic
I could hae cam frae Mars

The bed wis nerra bit clean,
An warm eneuch. Nae TV
Bit I played the mandolin
Merked buiks frae the class I taught

Throwe the windaes the fite, full meen
Glowered like an ee wi a cataract
Dulse sliddery as snot
Stank o deid fish on the shore

Ma landlord watched ma ongauns like a partan
Scuttled oot frae his hame aneth ma fleer
His fisherman's cleuks wir knobby as barnacles
His dry een takk me aa in

Ae day, o a suddenty
He entered ma chaumer.
Three steps ower the brods
An he pounced

His fyaachie slivvvery mou
Forced doon on mine
Siventy year auld,
Nae match fur a quine o twinty

I niver got a refund fin I left