clyde tunnel southbound ii

i walk through the clyde tunnel, southbound entrance pedestrians and cyclists partick to govan
writing down words i see, many as i can trying not to take too long
listening to the clanking and the dripping
dripping of water underwater scarier than anywhere else
and somebody has penned on the wall, hasty scribble
on top of the gang tags and profanities and clumsy penis doodles
love many trust few always paddle your own canoe
and i think about whoever wrote that and what they were thinking
clutching a can of tennents tears burning in their eyes, angry
betrayed, hurt, and better for it
or maybe just bitter for years now, and that would be the first thing that comes to mind
underwater next to a white wall (well almost, there were others before them standing there like they were and the wall kept being painted over like it matters what it looks like, everything anyone ever wrote there painted over in a slightly wrong shade of white i mean how does it even work how are there shades of white it's kind of freaky when you think about it)
clutching a sharpie thinking what should i write
and then going oh i know this is what i want to write
this is what i want to leave behind
taking a swig of their beer and hastily scribbling the words this is an important message i need to write it down and then taking off half running just in case
there wouldn't be anyone there with them not when they write down words like that
if they'd had friends with them they would've drawn a dick or written sarah katy johnny big dave fuck the system amy is a whore
but they were on their own
paddling their own canoe
because they had always much love to give and then slowly as years went by and people came and went careless and they learnt that to love doesn't mean to trust and they learnt to know better
do better
be better
so that's what they wrote