Life in Edinburgh

It's a sort of journal in haiku form.

I hear Bob Marley
But the sun isn't shining
'Cause I'm in Scotland

A debris strewn flat
In the middle of the town
Is where I write poems

I'm on the third floor
So many stairs to tackle
It's good exercise

There's a warning sign
'Please make sure the door shuts tight
Or stangers piss here'

I squint at the sky
I forgot my umbrella
The thick clouds threaten

A bus passes by
A shimmering crystal arc
Gets me really drenched.

I almost trip over
A ragged shivering shape
A hand reaches out.

I stamp my cold feet
What kind of Summer is this?
My bus does not come.

I arrive on time
No thanks to the bus driver
Drove like a madman

Andy washes plates
He has a thistle tattoo
Says 'Scotland the Brave'

The chef is red faced
Hates her job and we all pay
I just don't listen

'I want a refund!'
All I can do is sigh, shrug.
I'm just a waitress.

I miss my boyfriend
We were always together.
Work keeps us apart.

A drunk Irish man
Offers to sing me a song
To 'touch my wee heart'

J. Muirhead 2002