A poem about Glasgow

Glasgow is a city in Scotland. It is a most unusual place where the sun shines not from the sky but from the people you meet every day.

I miss Glasgow today, so I am posting a poem I wrote some time ago after consuming a vast quantity of a local beverage known as ‘whisky’, which is enjoyed beside raging open fires and in rainy bus stops all over the country.

The poem is a short one, about the day I quit my job at the Mental Health Unit in Govan. It’s called ‘Last day on the job’.

‘Last day on the job’

The River Clyde is a big dirty snake and you are riding its back, somehow.

It slithers along, through the town and then down,

But you are not going that way, not now.Just over the bridge, to the other side,

Where glass like confetti is sprinkled around.







Past the houses and car parks and pubs all still sleeping.

Cross the road where the men from the council are sweeping.Past the underground station.

Past a barking Alsation.

Past remains of last night’s auto cremation.Just pull up you scarf son,

Bow your head and be patient.

It’s your last day on the job…



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