In the scream of gulls engaged above
as I pick my way back through bracken
and rocks mossed
a luminous green.
In the business between
the rocks and water
flaring up and sloshing
as I pace back from the sea.
In the smell of fat and batter
from the fish’n’chip shop corner
of a Buckfast-littered concrete street
bathed in late May dazzle.
In the dishevelled vigour
of the gentleman passing my shoulder
and smoking with a swagger,
shrugging at the odds.
I typed in a building designed by
a West Coast Man of the eighties
with Gerry Adams beard and specs
and people asked my religion.
I lived for a time on Otago Street,
decanted by Grant Management,
shored up against subsidence,
west of most of the trouble.
I stood on a traffic island
as promised orange taxi lights
switched off and scooped up chancers
at half past midnight by the Clyde.
I waded through a decade
of plunging Kelvin hangovers,
dripping ellipses and shaking the hooks
of the ampersands that tied me
west of the Dean Village
and the grey rest of the Water of Leith,
tied me west of the Union Canal
and very nearly drowned me.
Roy Moller’s debut collection Imports is published by Appletree Writers’ Press. His poems have appeared in The Sea (Rebel Poetry), And Other Poems, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Paper & Ink, Dactyl and Nutshells & Nuggets among others. Born in Edinburgh and brought up in Leith, he now works in Glasgow and lives in Dunbar. www.roymoller.com