she’s round for a cup of tea
with Dad, she looks at Frank
Ye look like a parsnip
all long and white.
If I was like that when I were a lass
I’d soon be put right.
Dad laughs: Aye
Come round this sunday
we’ll gan doon the quayside
have a look round the market.
At the Quayside Market
Nana’s a ball of steel wool
the river is a dark border
the bridge is a watching eye
girls laugh, their high heels tap
the river stinks like Nana’s dishcloths boiling
the air of donuts and chips wafts around the stalls
Frankie throws a pop bottle into the oily water.
Hoy! the river isn’t a waste bin.
Nana growls and stomps off.
A foreign lad plays lonely music
on his accordion, Frank watches him
he’s young, on his own
beside the bridge.