What oddity you are a giant creepy crawlywith awkward daddy-long-legs body
a hybrid hexapod musical entity.
You are an intestinal track- a bladder
stomach lining - the Highland Cows udders.
You scream down Buchanan Street
we wince and bleed in the customary fashion.
A riot of screeches from a creche run amok.
Your drone and whine were first brought
into being to terrify the enemy from afar.
Now they pipe to keep folk tradition breathing;
and like tending to a long unused lielow
which we do not know has a puncture
we desperately keep pumping hot air into you.
Terrfied to let you go, terrified to listen to what you are saying.
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