Pigeons

Glasgow is Granda Jimmy and that time he took me to the Transport Museum;

Pigeons with at least one missing toe;

Buses filled with old ladies in bright raincoats and woollen beanies.

It’s an almost-kiss in Central Station.

The city is a train ride past the River Clyde

Looking into the shadows

And imagining the yards in their heyday—

“Gonnae pass me a rivet, Davie?”

“Yer wife’s up the duff again?!”

 

At seventeen, it was old people screaming and

Crying, “Nurse, she’s stolen my tea!”

Now it’s teenagers moaning, “Miss, I don’t understand!”

Glasgow is accidentally hitting my teacher with a shoe in 1999

And working alongside his daughter in 2016.

 

Dublin is doors every colour of the rainbow;

Bitter mornings walking across the River Liffey;

Drag queens and Pedi cabs along Harcourt Street.   

It’s the LUAS;

The smell of piss outside St Stephen’s Green.

 

The city is €1 cheesy pizza and 58 cent Tesco Value trifle

Carried up a creaky staircase

Past a poem I only ever noticed one line of—

Who knows what suffering midnight was?

Dublin is “Sure, that’s gas!” inside McDonald’s at 3 am.

 

It’s ‘Hallelujah’ on Grafton Street

Reminiscing about Glasgow

And its scaffy pigeons with missing toes.

Dublin is accidentally stealing a fork from Oscar Wilde’s house.

[Emma Guinness]

Image: Catriona Watson