"dithered" poems - Hello Poetry

She sat on her bed looking out the window. Hannah looked at the fulling rain. Her mother passed by the bedroom door and looked in. Whit ur ye daein'? Her mother said. Looking at the rain, Hannah replied. Ye can help me wi' the washin', her mother said. Do I have to help with the washing? Her mother stared at her Whit ur ye waitin' fur? I'm waiting for Benedict, Hannah said, gazing at her mother's stern gaze. O heem th' sassenach loon, her mother said and walked off down the passage. Hannah waited. She'd was pushing her manners close to the limits. Once upon a time her mother would have slapped her behind for talking so, but now at 12 years old her mother dithered and set her tongue to work instead. She eyed the rain running down the glass. She could hear her mother in the kitchen banging pots and pans. Then a knock at the door. Benedict no doubt. Gie th' duir, Hannah, her mother bellowed. Hannah went to the door and let Benedict in. He was wet, his hair clung to his head and his clothes were damp. Got caught in the downpour, he said, shaking his head. Hannah smiled. I'll get you a towel to dry your hair, she said. She got him a towel from the cupboard and he began to rub his hair. We can't go out in this, Hannah said, have to stay here and we can play games. He rubbed his hair dry, took off his wet coat and stood by her bed. What games? he said. Ludo? Chess? Draughts? She suggested. Her mother came back to the door of the bedroom. Ye swatch dreich, the mother said, eyeing Benedict. He looked at Mrs Scot and then at Hannah. Mum said you look drenched, Hannah said. O right, yes, I am, he replied and smiled. Mrs Scot didn't smile back. Dornt sit oan th' scratcher, Mrs Scot said icily. Mum said don't sit on the bed, Hannah said. Mrs Scot went off muttering. Where shall I sit? He asked. We'll sit on the floor, Hannah said, and play chess. He nodded his head, his quiff of hair in a damp mess.

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Jun 19, 2015

Jun 19, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC

terry-collett

CHESS GAME 1960

She sat on her bed looking out the window. Hannah looked at the fulling rain. Her mother passed by the bedroom door and looked in. Whit ur ye daein'? Her mother said. Looking at the rain, Hannah replied. Ye can help me wi' the washin', her mother said. Do I have to help with the washing? Her mother stared at her Whit ur ye waitin' fur? I'm waiting for Benedict, Hannah said, gazing at her mother's stern gaze. O heem th' sassenach loon, her mother said and walked off down the passage. Hannah waited. She'd was pushing her manners close to the limits. Once upon a time her mother would have slapped her behind for talking so, but now at 12 years old her mother dithered and set her tongue to work instead. She eyed the rain running down the glass. She could hear her mother in the kitchen banging pots and pans. Then a knock at the door. Benedict no doubt. Gie th' duir, Hannah, her mother bellowed. Hannah went to the door and let Benedict in. He was wet, his hair clung to his head and his clothes were damp. Got caught in the downpour, he said, shaking his head. Hannah smiled. I'll get you a towel to dry your hair, she said. She got him a towel from the cupboard and he began to rub his hair. We can't go out in this, Hannah said, have to stay here and we can play games. He rubbed his hair dry, took off his wet coat and stood by her bed. What games? he said. Ludo? Chess? Draughts? She suggested. Her mother came back to the door of the bedroom. Ye swatch dreich, the mother said, eyeing Benedict. He looked at Mrs Scot and then at Hannah. Mum said you look drenched, Hannah said. O right, yes, I am, he replied and smiled. Mrs Scot didn't smile back. Dornt sit oan th' scratcher, Mrs Scot said icily. Mum said don't sit on the bed, Hannah said. Mrs Scot went off muttering. Where shall I sit? He asked. We'll sit on the floor, Hannah said, and play chess. He nodded his head, his quiff of hair in a damp mess.