Poetry Map of Scotland poem no. 63: Macduff

Baby we were born for this

I’m driving fast and furious
as a harpy from hell
Bruce Springsteen’s in my passenger seat
belting baby we were Born to Run
so I roll down the window
let the wind blow back my hair
and in my rear-view mirror
the road’s a dark green tunnel
while up ahead
the white line’s got it all stitched up.

Then Brucey says
I’ve got a Hungry Heart,
let’s stop off in Macduff
eat fish suppers on the rocks
then make love
where the sea comes crashing in

and I cave in without a fight
cos I see his jeans so fine and tight
and smell his leather jerkin
and I need an Everlasting Kiss
to quell the fire that’s raging.

So we breeze into Macduff
past kids that haunt the shadows
of graffiti-ed harbour walls
and with the suppers and Irn Bru
we drive to where the sea falls
into an endless dream of darkening blue
and I just can’t see
what a guy like him is doing with me
on this wind-blown north-east shore
cos I ain’t that young anymore

but he says, hey babe, it’s all right
show a little faith
there’s magic in the night
stars riding the highway of the sky
seagulls surfing the oil-black tide
the wind stroking the world’s pain
and my Secret Garden opens wide
and I want to tell him oh so much
there’s healing in his Human Touch
and it ain’t no sin, it ain’t no sin
I’m glad to be alive.

In the lonely cool before the dawn
I pull the tartan rug around
the strong curve of his shoulder.
I stare up at the stars that yawn,
brush his eyelids with a kiss
and whisper, Brucey, baby,
we were born for this.

Magi Gibson

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