Scrobbers
Scrobbers
Tread quiet now boys
all in line
down the boreen
Step soft
on the whip of grass
For a stray foot-fall
on that sun-leatherned muck
Or a pebble kicked
off a can in the ditch
Or even so much
as a cracked twig
Would set the wild dogs
to warning
And draw the farmer down
out of his stony house
With his screeching wife
And his two blind sons
And a bloody fine end
then
They’d make of us
With a scythe
And a shovel
And an oul shot gun.
*****
Scrobbers is from my 2007 Collection The Boy in The Ring.