‘Glesga’, my home.
Broken concrete,
Illiterate people,
Slang terms which roll off the tongue.
Slang no one can understand
Filled with profanity and welcoming insults.
~
Where mothers scream for their children
To come ‘hame’.
Where ‘yer da’ doesn’t scream
Instead his voice disappears.
~
‘Auld’ men tend to be alcoholics
Sleeping on Jamaica Street begging for their next ‘bevvy’.
~
Oh, what a place I have been blessed to;
A failing school system;
A nation of drunkards
Blaming the state for their ‘state’.
Indeed I have been condemned here.
~
‘Ack away ye go ya dungerheed,’
They say when I oppose Labour.
‘Yer fae Glesga, be Gleswegin.’
They encourage.
~
Sometimes I am proud.
We are a nation of laughter:
Men in tartan skirts, bagpipes are played as ‘music’.
We are sarcastic, loud, obnoxious.
~
And we are stubborn.
Stubborn as a mule.
A mule rooted to the ground.
Which will be our downfall.
Points: 398
Reviews: 155
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