A Glaswegian Looks at a Pigeon ©
Welwyn Garden City
See me? See yon pigeon? Ah hate they things.
Actin' like they own George Square.
Wi' a cauld, cruel glitter in their eye,
Hey Jimmy, look at me, they go.
Puffin' their chist oot and scrabblin' aroon'
In whit folk like me leave behind.
A lager tin, an auld fish supper, a pile of boak.
Yon pigeon's sneerin',
Youse can keep yir Merchant City, yir Capital of Culture,
Youse're still a bunch of keelies, he says.
Wi' a half-forgotten chib in the jaicket pocket,
Of yir Princes Square designer gear.
Pure dead gallus, yon pigeon,
Jist like me.