Glaswegian Wood

If a door has no knob, then a door needs no lock –
Though if you say “handle,” you must be a jock
(That’s Irish for Scottish, if you haven’t guessed –
For LadyScot won this week’s poem contest).
The closet sat bursting and open for years
But when finally empty, it triggered John’s fears.
He shoved on the door, I heard it go “click”
And I shouted “That door has no handle, you dick!”
(Though I didn’t say “handle” – I just like the lilt.
Even if I am one-quarter tartan-plaid kilts,
I’m no parts blood sausage, which LadyScot likes,
And no parts (ick) haggis, though I do dig bagpipes.)
From now on, though, I’ve got to make these questions harder
Anybody can see there’s no knob on the larder –
I can call it whatever I want: it’s my house.
If I can call this poshy fop an old scouse,
And Lady a jock, and Johnny a jackeen,
Then my closet’s a larder (once it gets cleaned).