Wednesday Poem

Lone, Glasgow
Kevin McFadden

Where I first learned to say things, Ohio, my accent
was the local legal tender: good in Edinburg
as in Dublin or London. Then came Glasgow (proper).
One year abroad in Glaswegian, the notes
brought home bouncing everywhere, overdrawn.
Want a wild time? In Glasgow it was tame.
See the town? You had to hear the tune. New loans,
including my name; I began saying Cave-in
if I wanted the right introduction to a pub. The road
was rude, the power sometimes poor, My voice
skim milk in that butterchirn of gutterals, Scots vowels
clotted and spread like cream, I learned to hear
everything twice and nothing the same. Glasgow
still hasn't left me alone: it's left me a lane.