Open Writing

T’transpooart café’s breakfast bunch
Wor sloppin’ up their plates
When a bahker bloke kicks oppen’t’door
And struts in wi’ two meeats.

Nah, it’s not grub they’re lookin’ fer
They jest wents ter compete,
So they crahd a tiny table wheer
A lad his brekkfast eyts.

Nah, ‘e’s a meek an’ quiet sooart,
As dunnot meet their eyes,
But they wain’t let their plans for spooart
Be mithered by this guy.

One sams up’t ketchup bottle
An’ wi’ a vicious squeeze
He drahns yon poor chap’s ‘am and eggs,
‘Is sausages and peas.

‘E waits to see what recompense
The little fellow seeks.
But this ‘ere chap’s gate common sense
And simply sits and eyts.

He gi’es no sahgn that ‘es bin hurt
Or angered by this caper.
‘E sits, and eats, and sups, an’ chews
An’ reyds his mornin’ paper.

So number two thug taks up’t salt
And pooars it in his tay.
Anticipating that the man
Wain’t lahke it an’ display.

But no, he nobbut eyts his grub
And sips his tey straight faced.
The café’s silent, all agog to see
‘Ah’ this’ll terminate.

No one defies them vicious gooans,
For everyone’s raht fleyed.
Then, noiselessly, the chap gets up
And at the counter pays.

Wi’out a word he leaves the caff,
And goes to start his rig.
The three marauders shout and laugh
And clog a little jig.

Feelin’ they’ve won summat grand
They brag at wot they’ve done
By irritating one wee man
Who’d done no ‘arm to them.

The big one said, "Wor thet a man?
"Did ta ivver see the likes?
"He in’t much of a man I trow!
Not lahk me, an’ Bull, an’ Mike!"

Another diner quietly said,
"I mun agree wi’ thee,
‘E showed no sahn of ‘evvin’ feight.
Not much of a man Ah seed!

An’ ‘e in’t much of a drahver, pal,"
‘E said cool as an icicle.
Continuing, "I say that ‘cos
‘E’s run ower thi mottorcahcles!"

© 2010 – Ronnie Bray

http://yorkshiretales.com/journalsnormagoodwin/
http://yorkshiretales.com/ashoutfromtheattic
www.yorkshiretales.com
www.yorkshiretales.com/allaboutmormonism