I Can Hear Glasgow 

I can hear Glasgow when I close my eyes.

I can hear Glasgow when I open them too

No matter where I am in the world,

I can hear Glasgow.

I can hear the w hi r r i n g of the too slow coffee machines,

Drip after drip of poor tasting murky brown, overpriced and overhyped.

I can hear the mixture of China, London and the Southside,

Debating politics and takeaways, with a west end twang.

I can hear the tube getting closer

Obscure football chants growing louder in the dim tunnel. 

I can hear the tin drums of Buchannan street

And the meowing of the strange robot cats.

I can hear the hammer and drills of the new building,

And nails impatiently tapping steering wheels.  

I can hear fire alarms at 7am every Thursday,

A blurred mirage of grumbling of the students in dressing gowns. 

I can hear that CRUNCHY tuna sandwich, 

Even on the quiet 8th floor annexe, prompting shared side eyes. 

I can hear the roof coming down in beer bar,

And I would walk 500 miles!

I can hear Glasgow

Anywhere in the world.

But there’s nowhere quite like Glasgow,

Anywhere in the world.