A Wee Dram
At the risk of my new teeth
and reconfigured woolen borders
plated in the rhythm and structures
of an imagined rural life, let’s offer
cover for protesting crowds now that
there’s no place left
to play. Very tumultuous and
disorderly (on the pitch as on
the shop floor), woven with crossing
stripes in the designs of empire whose
perverse and familiar stoicism – “There’s
no mud in October!” – flourishes in
the deep floral borders of an offending
singalong, pleasingly pissing off
the old boy hegemony. Think
again. In streets, at festivals, and
during holiday times, twill edgings
and checks of silk will firm up
this ground so churned by frank
admiration of goat’s fleece, dodges
and trickery: “Here I go
bringing class into it again,” but it’s
sure as a peaty dram
Catriona Strang is the author of Unfuckable Lardass and five other books of poetry. She is recovering from decades of caring labour.
