Andrew Melrose | United Kingdom

Swimming to Fife

Give me maps and a compass, some old bones,
a bag full of shells, beach washed pebbles, dried
seaweed, a clear stretch of water, a sunny day and a view
of Scart Rock; it’s okay, you can sleep off the night
shift, while I plan the journey, there’s no rush,
I’ll no’ be far away.Even now I think of you every day.
There will come a time when I won’t. Maybe later,
when dusk settles over the Firth o’ Forth, I won’t hear you
asking, ‘Think we could swim tae Fife fae here?’
‘Aye,’ I always said;
we never did, but that was okay.

Dog tired from the nightshift

He dug coal back in then and drank black beer while blue flamed smoke unfurled up the bar chimney. He would watch unquiet strangers flicker in the grate but he never joined in the banter wi’ those who worked on the surface. He was an underground man, unfamiliar, preferring the solitude.
Dog tired from the nightshift, shoulders slumped and weary, when he unslung his pit bag and coat his strong arms opened to let us in.

Curriculum Vitae Andrew Melrose