Yer lit comin hame ...

Michael Mullen

Yer lit comin hame ...

Yer lit comin hame tae a bed that’s awready made
Lit huvin a comedoon n rememberin ye boaght Lucozade.
That favourite jumper that’s jist went aw frayed
That burn of yer muscles when they’re aw sex-splayed.

Yer the toy that a wis waitin fur in ma Happy Meal
Satisfying tear ae sunburn when it starts tae peel.
The decision between wanting tae heal and tae reel
That glorious silence after an enemy’s spiel.

Yer the cuddly bear strapped tae the grill ae ma truck
Yer the eye squiggles when I’m comin up.
When ye use aw yer skill and ye’ve still got luck
The perfectly meltet ice pole wae juices tae suck.

Yer that feelin when ye get tae take aff yer bra
After a 5k yer the water foamin in ma foot spa.
Yer lit a terminal man’s last hurrah
The kinda cunt that wid say je ne sais quoi.

Yer the view ye get at the tap ae the tower
The perfect water pressure in a strangers shower.
Yer that spring sleep when I get back an hour
The leftover pineapple oot a sweet and sour.

the unholy call for a snout aftir a hingin Chinese
The rips in ma jeans getting rain on my knees.
Yer the kinda cunt who always remembers tae say please
Yer the wine just pullt oot the moment before a freeze.

Yer aboot as reliable as the McDonalds ice cream machine
Yer the alarm going aff durin ma wet dream scene.
The smell of a hoagie when I’m trying tae stay lean
Oor horoscopes don’t match? Wit the fuck dae ye mean ?

Yer the once percent battery wae nae charger in sight
The kind of cunt who’d bring a sandwich tae a knife fight.
Yer the feelin efter winter when aw yer clays ur tight
Yer a Scottish summer night that stays blue bright.

Yer lit tryin tae start a campfire when it’s started tae rain
Yer the kinda cunt that wid clap fur a landed plane.
Yer the bad yin hit oan the wrang weed strain
Yer the drama of a scene in a stained glass pane.

Yer a dark side daddy bakin in blues
A like ye despite the smell of yer shoes.
Lifeline detective still looking fur clues
Wondering who is it that chooses oor muse.

Ye watch as ye flatten my emotions, yer bold
When I’m riding shotgun in yer caveman chokehold.
Yer the punchline of a joke ten times told
the way our sweat congeals like a corpses mould.

Yer a clichéd rebel waeoot a real cause
Yer a bad rom-com that ends to no applause
Yer the mad rottweiler who’s jist lost eez baws
Yer the kinda cunt who complains aboot paper straws.

Yer the crumb residue in a tub of butter
Prison light coming through the hoaliday shutter.
Bedrooms fillt up wae too much clutter
The dial up porn that’s jist went tae buffer.

Yer the discount bonnie in my nuclear Clyde
Yer my love letters filled wae nothing but suicide.
Yer the Tennent’s pished Jekyll tae my Hyde
Yer the moon, doll, and I’m the tide.

Yer the monotony, the mundane life that ploughs
Yer ma back hand, weak wrist wedding vows.
Yer lit trying tae get a pint when the place is stowed
Yer that one tall cunt in a concert crowd.

Yer the new motor who loves false starts
Yer the glimmerin rid that fills jam tarts.
The titillation and elation of broken hearts
Yer a love story broke in two parts.