A Chuckie in yer shoe.
by Bruce Clark Dick
Theirs nithing mair annoying, a fact, I ken is true,
That when yer in a hurry, ye get a chuckie in yer shoe.
Ye hirpple an ye hobble, ye pull and tug yer sock,
It feels bigger than a chuckie, mair like Ayres Rock.
Ye cripple to a bus stop, propped up on it ye lean,
Like thon lad, Long John Silver, fae the pictur screen.
Ye shake yer shoe empty, like a bairn wie a bankie,
The sweat rins doon yer foreheid, ye dab it wie a hankie.
Ye tie yer laces tichtly, an start off wie a stride,
Ye havnae gone a couple yards, the chuckies still inside.
Twa pensioners on a bench they stare, an watch ye hirpple o’er,
Ye sit doon wi ane awfy thump, the pensioners gie a glower.
In a fit o’ anger, the shoe an sock come af,
Ye inspect, an wiggle yer piggies, so whit if you look daft.
Oot pops the offending chuckie, a wee bit weer than Ayres Rock
Ye pit back on yer fitwear, an again pull up yer sock.
Ma journeys nearly finished, hame, feet up an watch the telly.
The next time that I go oot, I think I’ll wear ma wellies.