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Poetry
Frank McNie's Poems


A Glasgow Kiss



He's descended from the great warriors of Gorbals fame,
A master in the art of the street fighting game.
The perfect example of a fighting machine,
Hard as nails and twice as mean.

He was born off tradition, bred to fight,
The "Great Glasgow Gladiator" of Saturday night.
He meets his fans at the designated place,
Where custom dictates a fast drinking pace,

Soon his week's wages are but a memory,
It's time to go forth to victory.
His battle cry.. short pungent words designed to scare,
To drive his enemy from his cowardly lair.

With luck he'll find a "Dancing Nancy",
All dressed up and looking fancy
Guilty of that great Glasgow sin
Of standing there when he walks in.

In an instant.. the deed is done'
Battles over the day is won.
Just one blow with no reply
More pungent chords of the battle cry.

The sound of bygone battles was steel on steel,
Even cannon's roar had some appeal.
There is one thing I'll never miss,
The sickening sound.. of a "Glasgow Kiss".


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