My manner

Walking home after a Burns Night supper
At the four hundred year old community centre
Where I was married
And still teach four mornings a week
Having cooked haggis with an Irish woman and a Ukranian
And after a conversation with a Californian
Realising I’m a New Scot

It’s nearly midnight and I’m missing all the buses and in the wrong shoes
Tap tap tapping uphill
Taking a shortcut that’s actually not much shorter
Through the local high school
With the mountain bike track around the perimeter
And the housing estate next to it
To which I deliver Greens newsletters twice a year
Just to see what’s changed

I’m like a dog sniffing at lamp posts
Like a cat patrolling it’s territory

This is my manor

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