What the Clyde said, after COP26

I keep the heid. I’m cool. 
If asked - but you never ask -
I’d answer in tongues 
hinting of linns, of Leven, 
Nethan, Kelvin, Cart -
but neutral, balancing
both banks equally as I flow...

Do I judge? I mind the hammer-swing, 
the welders’ flash, the heavy 
steel-built hulls I bore downstream
from my city, and maybe 
I was a blether-skite then,
a wee bit full of myself,
when we seemed gey near unstoppable...

But how can I stomach any more
of these storm rains? How can I 
slip quietly away to meet my lover,
the wide-armed Ocean, knowing 
I’m a poisoned chalice  
she must drain, drinking
everything you chuck away... 

So these days, I’m a listener, aye.
Think of me as a long level 
liquid ear gliding slowly by.  
I heard the world’s words,  
the pleas of peoples born 
where my ships once sailed,
I heard the beautiful promises...

and, sure, I’m a river, 
but I can take a side.
From this day, I’d rather keep afloat, 
like wee folded paper boats, 
the hopes of the young folk
chanting at my bank, 
fear in their spring-bright eyes

so hear this:
 	fail them, and I will rise.