Sam – a chanter by Edward Small

(For Jim,  An excerpt)

When teatime-hame folk thrang the street
And head for pleasures, dark and sweet
As learning days are wearing late
And full-time students congregate
While they sit boozing at the Union
Downing wine like last-communion
They think na of the puir wee sowels
Wha nichtly haunt the Uni’s bowels
Heading for their part-time sessions
Planning undone-work confessions
Snacking quick tae fend starvation
Shakin’, sick, wi trepidation
For upstairs in yon Lecture Room
Awaits their tutor – Mrs Dooom
Spewin scorn on ilka excuse
Makkin Burns’s Kate seem like a woose.

This truth hit Sam, a student loonie
As he, ae nicht, approached the Uni
(Dundee – Academia’s errant besom
And foremost centre of masochism).
Puir Sam….he wisnae all that smart
His mither warned him frae the start
“This learnin lark is no your trick
Yer ower auld….and ower thick
They students are ken’t for awfy frolics
Maist graduate…….as Alkyholics…
Is stappit fu…..a damn’d disgrace
By daein this… lah-di-dah degree
You’ll end like them….you wait and see”….

Now, in his mind he’d always thought
Pubs were fine…….if Hell ye sought!!!
Heavin’ wi desperate drunken sots
Slurpin beer and Vodka shots
Clathes unwash’d since God knows when
Unshaved faces……….even the men
Sawdust strewn a’ ower the flair
Pools o’ vomit, here and there
Loose-women, faces etched wi’ grit
Wi’ shortest skirts and matchin’ wit
Tattooed bands aroond their airms
Plungin’ necks…disgorging chairms
And as Sam entered….tae his delight
He found his thoughts had been…..quite right
And syne, oor lad frae Dundee tenement
For first time ever…was in his element….

A History Professor….a bit o’ a loner
Was holding court in an ancient corner
Twa auld-maids, his audience…hymen intactus
Never known Men…but longing to practice
A scruffy lecturer…chattin up lasses
Offering auditions – for life-drawing classes
A Philosophy Doctor, having a rant
Hugging a book by that German Kant
An Art Historian, full of the ‘joys’
Tearfully rememberin’ her Glasgow Boys
An English tutor….totally barking
Drooling over essays on Woolf he’s marking
Four languages tutors, a table sharing
Maist o their language was cursing and swearing
Twa women frae Archives, cover wi’ stoor
Dating their pies…..but no too sure
A courtin couple wi love-lorn eyes
Each of them stricken…..each of them guys

Twa drunken beardies….sneaking a fag
Filled wi stuff from a brown paper bag
Sam’s eyes transfixed on mysterious pokey
When Fanfare heralded……’.The Karaoke’

And Sam knew then…….he’s found his callin’…

© Edward Small