In your muddy coat, you stroll up from your croft;
choose two biographies.
And I’m not sure you’ll want
to look at poetry; am surprised
when the pirate behind your fiery eyes
lets me help you choose a Douglas Dunn
to add to your collection.
Quick as a dog you’re down at the loch side,
showing me your veg patch,
hidden from storms inside peat stacked walls.
“Bloody deer have eaten all my greens.”
You ask if I like beetroot, tug up
two huge globes covered in mud.
Each one must weigh at least a pound.
And I’ve been waiting for this windy day
to open windows wide,
chopping the beets with onions and Bramleys
adding sugar, spice, and vinegar
and slowly simmering them together.
And I’m thinking, six jars of chutney
are more than a fair exchange
for the poetry I chose for you to relish.