Jimmy McCutcheon & the picnic basket

Wid ye look at them?
Richt in front o’ a’body
they dinnae care

Aye weel, neither did we
me an’ Jimmy – Jimmy McCutcheon
wi’ his mammy’s best
picnic basket unner wan airm
an’ his ither
aroon ma waist

A’thing inside that basket wiz reed tartan
flask, paper plates, even spoon haunels
Mrs McCutcheon
Senga tae ma maw, fir we lived up the same close
had ‘haspirations o’ grandeur’ Maw said
Maw niver missed an opportunity tae maungle a common saying

He wiz a braw lookin’ laddie tho’
nae awfy tall but then nane o’ us were then
Said he knew this place -
doon the braes – and wid ah like to come
fir a picnic wi’ him
Course, ah played hard ti’ git fir
a meenit or so, bit baith o’ us kent
that wis jist a gemm

A’body knew doon the braes wiz
a place lads took lassies fir winchin’
an’ we said whit a bonny place it wiz
Truthfully it coulda been a wee patch o’ dandelions
an’ dog muck
behind a factory
fir a’ the attention we peyed it

Ah wore ma schuil uniform minus
blazer ‘n tie
an’ he wiz got up in
thae drainpipe breeks ‘n pointy shoes
we thocht wiz the bees knees then

It wis an awfy hot day ah mind
ye could smell the grass soakin’ up the sun

Actin’ posh, ah wiz mither
layin’ oot tartan cups ‘n paper plates
like it wiz Sunday tea
Tae ma dismay
Mrs McCutcheon had pit in twa slabs o’ her Dundee cake
ma Maw’s cake wiz ten times better
she said Mrs McC used awfy cheap mixed fruit

We hid a morning roll each
slathered wi’ butter
washed doon wi’ Barrs dark cola frae the flask

An’ then he kissed me
Aye he wiz a guid kisser
no that ah’d much tae compare wi’
bit aifter that kiss
ah’d hae gone tae the ends o’ the earth
fir Jimmy McCutcheon so ah wid
-jist like that lassie there ah wiz

Jimmy McCutcheon ‘n me niver hid any more picnics
a week later
aff he goes wi’ Janice Rae
an’ noo they’ve three gran’weans
Mind, it disnae grieve me
Jimmy went oan the booze early
Janice hid a hard time o’ it
their weans aye snotty nosed wi’
shoes fu’ o’ holes

Aye it’s funny innt it – whit brings it back
Jimmy McCutcheon ‘n the picnic basket

I wrote this first as prose in May 2009, but it’s always felt more like a poem, so I made it into one.