Document 734

The Erseboond

Author(s): Tom Hubbard

Copyright holder(s): Tom Hubbard

Efter Rimbaud's 'Les Assis': thon makar's tribute ti the librarians o his native Charleville


Plookie an pockie, foustie roond the een,
Their wrattie fingers cleeked intil their hochs;
Wi doobtsome scruif their harnpans are owergeen
Like the cankert growthieness on cowpit brochs.

Ilk rickle o banes has shagged his-sel intil
The muckle mirkie skelet o his chair;
Aa day, aa nicht, it's fuitsie-fuitsie thrills
Wi wuiden baurs that shoogle ower the flair.

The auld cunts hae aye been plaitit wi their saits;
In simmer drouth, their flype turns calico;
Or else they're chitterin, like sairie taeds,
Govin at the winnock at the glushie snaw.

- An their saits aye sair thaim weill, like; shitey-broon,
The strae yields ti their hurdies' ilka sklent;
Spreit o the auncient sun lichts up, that's boond
In braids whaur there's the corn ti ferment.

An the erseboond, knees at teeth, green pianists,
Ten fingers bangin on aneath their sait;
Tempo di barca, largo e mesto, juist,
- Their heids keep time, near ti ejaculate.

Dinna steir thaim up, or else they're sunk!
Like skelpit baudrons, gurlin, apenin slaw
Their shouthers, feemin, fizzin, spairgin spunk -
Their hainches swall, their breeks fuff oot anaa.

You hear thaim dunt, thae baldy heidbangeers,
Their pows agin bleck waas; wi unco clack
They ramp their feet; the buttons that they weirs
Are beasties' een that keek oot fae the stack!

They can pley, forby, the invisible haund that kills:
Atween their winkers, seeps thon hellish bree
That, whan you leather your bitch, her look distils:
An you sweit, trapped in a cundie till you dee.

Erseboond again, their nieves encuffed in clert;
Joe Public's interruptions are fair cussed;
Their chinless cholls aye bobbin loose, - fae stert
o day till gloamin - tremmlin fit ti brust.

Whan their winkers faa intil a dour-like sloom,
They dover in their sexy saits' enbrace;
Wee dollyburds o chairs, reenged roond the room,
Encirclin desks you'd think looked on po-faced.

Ilk blume o ink draps comma-shapes o pollen,
Hushies ilk erseboond in his bit flour-cup
Like the adder-bell in flicht throu gladiolie
- An the ickers gar thae auld boys' pricks swall up.

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The Erseboond