A Pokie Fu' O' Whulks

An auld pram
Haudin’ whulks
Creel at her feet
Spewin’ dulce
The east-coast fishwife
Wi’ workin’ will
Ev’ry Seturday
At the fit o’ the Hull

A cuppie fu’ o’ fine fresh whulks
Or, maybe – ave – some teugh green dulce

Delvin’ intae curly shells
Rattlin’, scrapin’ o’er spills

Ane or twa cuppies – did ye say
Is there ony mair ye’d like th’ day?

Paper pokies i’ the hood
Come buy fresh whulks
Nourishin’ food

An’ a’ the bairnies (an’ monie a man)
Pairted wi’ siller frae their haun’
Standin’ there frae morn tae e’en
Till scarce she’d left a sheenie preen*
Wi’ pooches laden – worl weel done
Awa’ she hurl’d – oot’n the toun.

* Shiny pin