Poetry Map of Scotland poem no. 44: Lerwick

When it rained glass in Lerwick

Glass is falling from the sky
and like a particularly determined pigeon,
it is finding its way to land on
windscreens and wing mirrors.
It is volcanic too, and I wonder
if that means it will bend its less mobile
siblings into intriguing new shapes;
or at least leave better-than-average pockmarks.
I’m sure the humble worker glass,
all functional transparency and straight edges,
longs to be blown and stained, so it too
can be a vessel for rapture.
I mean, who wants to be seen through
when you can be adored.

Rishi Dastidar

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