Ring of Brodgar

I knew you’d be late. You’re always late.
The shrinks say it’s a power thing.

I watched a fly emerge from morning lethargy
into a frenetic map reading of the window.

In beads of condensation
it traced an outline of the Orkneys
detailing the ring of Brodgar.
Admittedly it missed out
one or two of the thirty six stones
but the gist was there.

It starting buzzing in D.
I made out the notes
of the Deerness reel
and starting swaying.

I got an odd look from
a man with egg on his boot.
Reluctantly I had to agree
that the tune had been played better.

An hour and a half later
with a flamboyant excuse
of the dog eating the train ticket
I turned and sashayed from the café
and headed North for Orkney.