Sparkplug by DJ Mac

Sparkplug

That manky dug,
Dirty wee bugger,
Did his business
Oan ma lawn.
Ah offered the owner
An Asda bag
But she wusnae interested,
‘It’ll be good fur the roses,’ says she,
But ah can tell she widnae know
A dandelion fae a dahlia.

‘For your information,’ says I,
‘Them’s no roses;
Them’s blades o’ grass,
An’ ma lawn’s no needin’ fertilising;
Ah’ve just put a wee dressin’ oan it
Tae bring oot the green.’

‘Whatever,’ says she,
And she’s pullin’ at her nicker elastic,
An’ throwin’ her fag,
Ow’er her shou’der.
As she calls tae her dug,
‘Hey, Sparkplug, get ower here noo,
Ye wee toarag,
Afore ye poison yersel’
Oan his chemicals.’

‘The dug’s organic,’ says she
Oot o’ the corner ‘o hur mooth
An’ she raises an eyebrow
An’ points a thumb at Sparkplug.
‘He’s awfy sensitive
Tae substances,’
She explains.

An no’ withoot fondness
She ruffles his scabby ears,
Pats his scrawny erse;
An’ the dug, who’s no’ done yet,
Wee scallywag that he is,
Cocks his lugs, rattles his tail
An’ goes an’ lifts his leg oan ma floribundas
Oan his way oot.

Copyright DJ Mac