Grave Interview Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Can ye see the starnies throwe yer reef o girse?
Dae ye spikk tae yer neebors, lyin nearhaun in the mools?
I canna accept complaints aboot ither graves nearhaun
Yer neebors micht be farrer alang daith's pathie than yersel.
Larn tae thole it, the slaw seepage spreidin aneth the yird.

There's a nae pets policy…nae Fido, Flossie, peein ower the flooers
Ye hae the richt tae lie in yer property in peace
Mowdies are a pest, we dae oor best tae kill them,
Bit they like the grun. Fit mair can I say?

Gin yer heidsteen growes shoogly an yer neist o kin winna pye
We reserve the richt tae ding it tae the grun.
Nae skyrie lichts, win chimes,
Or orra luikin plastic gee-gaws alloued
The cooncil landscape gairdeners hae tae tend the girse
An sae need a clear access tae the grun.

Mebbe ye'll lie here fur centuries,
Mebbe ye winna. Steens frae the 1700s are happit wi fogg.
Mebbe a thoosan years frae noo, a hoosin estate
Will be biggit on tap o ye, yer aisse micht be fertilizin parks.
Archaeologists micht howk yer casket up,
Scholars screive papers aboot burial customs mangst the Post Millenials
Ta ta fur noo, I've fair enjoyed wir news.