Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 395

The Falls of Shin

It looked and seemed like one enormous
pint of porter constantly pouring itself.
And I stood there in awe drinking this in;
the dark swirling body, the reconstituting froth
and the sheer sound of the stuff
just rushing and racing in spume.
My senses were birling and I had to leave
vowing that tonight, after our meal,
I would order a few sleek ones of my own
to see if I could find the salmon leaping
up to the font to confront the barman
whose hand had spawned this great torrent.

Jim Aitken

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