Yokit

It’s a job o wark, drivin half a hunner mile

T gas wi cheils aboot i price o gear, then

Sittin on i phone files, watchin i clowds flicht

Seein i girse pirl up i roon hull abeen i craft

An nae hearin a souch. 

Simmer, ye say, is affbidden ower the heids 

O is darg: we bide in i countra but wark doon wires, 

Claikin wi machines and computers and the like;

I wid sen ye a lectric letter an ye’d hae’t the meenit

My finger’s aff i button; I’d as seen tell ye 

Am awa oot t sit aneth my ain rodden tree

Tae sowf in i sun.

We’ve come a lang wye an nae mistak 

An in the meanwhile geen naewye; 

Geen backlins intae the future, richt eneuch,

Aa cause we thocht oorsels better

Than them as went afore.

Faa but a few tills the grun these days?

Faa sees i wither blaw in an hunkers doon

Till i stot o rain an its bleary blast gings ower?

We’ve fair come on but come aff the waur 

Lik a sailboat cairriet away in a sea-swall

Nane at i helm, i rither slack, daverin.

© BH. 2017

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This is the third in the Drift, Breitherin, Yokit, Throu-come series.

Yokit is about work. The summer of our endeavours with just a hint of whatever fruition we might want or get. 

Incidentally, the 1100 in the image is actually one of the MG badged versions and photographed in Cotignac in Provence.