The Guid Room

It’s no yin o they fantoosh places

wi new fangled machines,

but rare an couthy if ye hae a drouth.

Nae table o yer ain when it’s hoachin,

we’re aw neebours here;

auld Jean and her freen, cheek be jowl

wi folk frae far-flung airts.

Reek o bacon an saft baps,

a wee smidgin o frazzled fat

poking oot roon the tap.

Braw lace tablecloths,

plain cheeny plates an mugs,

snug when it’s rainin stair rods

or blawin a hoolie in The Mile.

Laid oot oan the dresser, hame bakin,

a wheen o scones, cakes, shortbreid, tea loaf.

Sponges smoored wi icing on three-tiered staund.

Up aboon, raws o plates in aw shapes and sizes.

A wee mindin o the bonnie lass,

cooried doon lang syne noo

in Canongate Kirkyaird.

First published in 'this collection' blog on Wordpress, February 2009.