F-Words

1

Friday night
is a packet of chips
and a couple of cans,

pressed up against
the harbour wall
for the wind

or when it rains,
the shelter down
on Drever Street.

Anywhere but indoors.

2

Sometimes,
like tonight,
we walk.

Archie’s off
to join up
in a couple of days

because it’s either that
or the F-words -
fisherman, or farmer -

and he couldn’t give a
flying F-word
for either.

F-Words

Tonight is our
fond farewell
and he’s already drunk

because Angus MacD,
who left school last year
to go work for his dad,

has cash to splash,
bought whisky,
won’t say where

but is willing to share.

3

We clamber out
across the rocks
towards the lighthouse.

The tide is out,
the sand is firm
beneath our boots.

Madie Flett
takes my arm,
slows me down

till her low voice
can be heard
above the singing.

F-Words

Don't tell the others.
I’m leaving, too.
Tomorrow, on the first bus.

An’ then I’ll no’ be coming back.

4

Monday
I’ll be back
in school

because that’s
my escape plan.
I’m playing the long game.

I’m learning there are
so many more
F-words out there,

like fame and fortune,
fulfilment, future,
and freedom.

And when I go,
I, too,
will no’ be coming back.