The Fisherman. Scotland 1994.

The Fisherman

Dressed up like a peacock,

Strutting for no-one I set

Off for a dead-end Saturday night

Behind the bar in a dull hotel.

I began to pray as I wheeled along the lochside

Chanting an old song and longing for company, anybody, somebody,

Who would be with me

For a minute, a night or two.


I drew to a standstill and caught his eye.

Mr. Lost-his-mates-lonely

Sharp and fly,

A stream cruising salmon

Rough diamond alone,

I knew I was meant to take him home.


I had dreams that I’d show him a brand new way.

Give him the power, the power to say,

“No.” to the bullshit, the boozin’, the crime…

Give him some minutes

Out of his life, in mine.

I remember his calling and the excitement it caused,

“I knae youze,yer the kingfisher!…gi’us a kiss!”

He threw his fly, far out, I struck,                                               

Determined to play

Give him a “good fuck”

And enjoy our time, free on the wind.


But now I’m paying for it.

If I’d had his God, I’d say I sinned.

I didn’t mean to cause his pain,

But I’ve gone and done it again.

Carried away in a story, a game.

It’s ended up he wants to tame

The wild runaway from that Scottish weekend.

Take her away, look after her, give her

What he thinks she wants…

Hide her away from the wild world’s taunts.

Treat her with chocolates and roses and tickets

“tae the footba’ “ and Doors, bingo and darts matches

and with it, he doesn’t see,

in his big fist, he snatches,

away what he really loves in me.

My well-earned existence

The way of the free…

That he’d I believe,

Secretly like to be.

But in his world I know I can never be me.


 The tragedy lies in a love unexplored,

It is there, it was there

It was holy, but flawed.

Somewhere, we’ve prooved it,

There is a divide

Between those who’re living

And those who’re alive.

Holy but flawed. 1994.


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