To Butlins

That's me on the left skrieching!

Och God, let me be a Butlins Redcoat! ah pray.
Watch me skreich an scream 
an skelp the cowl water wi ma belly
​while ma mammy slarries suncream 
on her goose-speckelt skin.

Och God, let us win! ah pray.
Watch me race doon rows o chalets 
past the Tilt O Whirl an the Mexican Hat 
wi ma wee bruller on on wer way til
the Donkey Derby.

Och God, let him no come last! ah pray.
Watch me dae the Time Warp aneath 
the skinkling lights o the Stuart’s ballroom 
wi ma babbie bruller afore the
bonny baby competition.

Och God, let me own a gress skirt! ah pray.
Watch me souk ma Slush Puppy as 
ma big bruller jooks away tae the penny 
gambling machines, him in a blue futball shirt, 
his mate in green.

Och God, let me no get caught! ah pray.
Watch me sleek intae the bunged Beachcomber bar 
an keek at trees an plants lazin in ponds o fish 
where weemen in wide glesses gab  
atween sips o Bacardi.

Och God, let me get back tae Butlins! ah pray.
Watch me board a bus for Alloway tae learn aboot  
a deed poet who said sleekit like me and befreeded 
a wee moose in a field called
the tim’rous beastie.

Och God, let me be a Butlins Redcoat, ah pray,

Or, mibbe even a poet 


 



    

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