A Mobile Phone
by: Addison, Hazel L. R.
I saa him waakin doon the street
Wi his haan held tae his heid,
I thocht the lad hid hurt himself
An maybe wis in need
O’ a helpin haan tae get him hame
So I cross’t the road and said,
“Jist gies yer airm laddie,
I’ll help ye tae yer bed.
Bit he jist shrugged an waachle’t on
Withoot a sidewyes glunce,
I heard ‘im mutterin tae himsel
“I’ll be there jist gies a chunce
Tae hae a wash an dress mysel,
I’ll be ready in an ‘oor”,
So I pit my airm aroon his neck
Sayin “I’ll help ye tae yer door”.
He shove’t my airm fae aff his neck
Wi utter consternation,
Shoutin “fit ye dae’n wifie
I’m hae’in a private conversation,
Awa an dae yer shoppin,
Stop interfeerin wummin”,
Syne he furl’t aroon an I didna ken
If he wis gyaan or he wis comin.
He took his haan doon aff his heid
An pintit it at me,
An grippit in the palm o’t there
‘Twas plain for me tae see
He held some kyne o’ gadget
Wi buttons an flashin licht,
His knuckles they wir turning fyte
Wi grippin it sae ticht.
He steppit back an glouwer’t at me
Sayin “I’ll nae tell ye again,
I’ll jist phone for the bobbies
An they can taak ye hame,
Yer interuptin aa my plans
Div ye nae think ‘aat it’s time,
Ye bocht a mobile tae yersel,
For yer sure nae getting mine”.
I stutter’t oot an apology,
Sayin “I thocht ye’d hurt yer heid,
Maybe hid concussion
Tho’ I cwidna see nae bleed,
Gosh ye fairly fleggit me
Wi ‘aat gadget in yer hunn,
Ye’ve caa’d the stuffin oot o’ me,
I’m frozen tae the grun”.
Fits ‘aat? Ye’ll phone me a taxi,
Will ye show me fit ye dae?,
Jist press ‘aat little button’s ‘ere,
Syne dial eight, one, two, three,
Oh! I think I see ane comin noo,
Yer mobile phone’s jist rare,
Weel seein ye phoned the taxi
Ye’d better pey the fare. Ta! Ta!.