Buddha
I met the Buddha in Edinburgh
hunkered in a doorway in the West Bow
a can of Carlsberg in his hand.
Around him shops, cops and dogs
were doing their miserable business.
He was doing his:
with a hand as black as a tenement
he wiped his oracular mouth,
growled his simple teachings:
Fuck-all point. Fuck-all point.
Lost the lot. Lost the lot.
Guid riddance. Guid riddance.
And he watched me, the nothing I was
as I passed. He watches me still
crouched in a doorway in my mind
in that inelegant, Scottish half-lotus,
the void of the afternoon
in the void of his eyes.
No Comments Posted!