If Oscar was sat across from me
in a coffee shop at half past three
in the afternoon, would he swoon?
To read the poems I wrote for you.
Keaton would shudder at the way
they ask, head inclined, about my day.
Poor boy, so coy, I might employ
a different approach to unwind to.
Ms Duffy might say “fuck it”
to the entire thing, real wit
comes naturally to she.
My Scottish Heroine.