The Ochils by Maggie Mackay

They tell me Wayne, Stacey

and other bolshie bairns are waiting

for me in the teaching hut.


The class, named after a range of hills,

(so they would feel special)

kicks at the floor, chew gum.

Sean wobbles against the wall.

At least one teacher’s been tumbled down scree.


We face each other in a horseshoe of chairs,

no jotters or pens. They stare in puzzled quiet.


In June their music teacher tells me

‘You’re doing something right.

I’m giving them guitars again.’


Bio: Maggie Mackay is a brave-hearted Scot and a final year MA Poetry student at Manchester Metropolitan University. She has work in various print and online publications, including  Ink, Sweat and Tears, Prole, The Interpreter’s House and Three Drops Press.

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