I arrived needy, wanting. I was thirsty for all. For all things glittering. I had been nine days... And so I showered, swiftly soaping off the wilderness. I ate, and I drank. I chatted to Glasgow women who were thirsty for a mountain man, someone other than a schemie. And so the waitress and the climber touched. I remember being drunk and smashing her head into the slipway. She was slightly stunned and I was shocked. My arms had slipped, no, my limbs had an episode. No action of mine. All I wanted was to smooth her, not to hurt her And she'd been through it In Glasgow High up In the towers And she knew it And she knew It wasn't meant And so we kissed As the sea kissed our feét And we partied With the others All of them pissed The service staff From Glasgow THere, in Ullapool's Spring And missed By the boys and mums Of those glorious slums Now parkland Or some such other Redeveloped for the games The games we play But where is she? Her home's exploded A 9/11 scene And her childhood, dead A concrete dust Falling As she must have, Down... And we parted From the others As the night drew in. She took my hand And guided me To her small box room And single bed And she carefully Undressed me As I nervously And with little skill Tore at her bra No hostel bed for me That night But her bed Squashed in Fucking The next day she worked And I worked I worked through My hangover and siting Drinking coffee I was spotted By Connors mother A lovely from Achnasheen Visiting postcard beauty Ullapool, and by chance Me, And She said "what are you doing here?' And I chatted a wee while But she had to move on And I had somewhere But I didn't really And maybe She didn't Have to Too And we should have so Enchanted Each other With our connections, Our selfless intentions Can you miss An acquaintance? I met the waitress From Glasgow For a second night And we drank And we licked And we sucked And in the morning I kissed her As though She were dying And made my way To Inverness By ponderous coach Where I bought A few cans of McEwan's And I sat on the bank Of the rivers shimmering bright And reflected Through my dead head On how empty And How full Scotland can be And on how empty And How full are we And my tinnies Each one, once full, Emptied And I worried About the waitress And for that day Entertained the notion A plan almost Placed In motion To return to the jewel Of Ullapool. And to my lasting regret Although likely For the best I left her be But she continues Time without Inside me.