"Good morning, Thistle."
"Good morning, Buckle. Where are you off to looking so bright?"
"Thank you Thistle," hitching up his pants. "Oh what a day, what a day."
"Yes, Buckle, the sun is shining, almost as rare as seening you well dressed."
"Thank you Thistle," Buckle beams. "I am off to an important rally in
"Really, Buckle—I am proud of you. I know good things happen in old Trafalgar."
"Yes, Thistle, we are gathering for world peace." Another hitch of his pants. "The world is in a terrible state, you know Thistle.
"Good on you, Buckle."
Buckle starts to strut away. "Wait a minute, Buckle, what is that sticking out of your back pocket?"
"Oh just a piece of paper."
"Looks like quite a formal piece of paper for you, Buckle. I know you, Buckle, what is this all about."
"I met a new mate in the pub last night..."
"Oh no, Buckle, oh no—"
"It’s alright, Thistle—in fact I am doing my global duty."
"Your global duty, Buckle—that sounds high and mighty."
"You would have liked him, Thistle. He was very well dressed and drinking a good brand of Scotch."
Thistle shakes his head
"I told him I was going to see the PM at Trafalgar Square today and he asked me if I would give him this envelope, the PM, he told me in a very low voice, was a very good friend of his."
"How much had you drunk, Buckle?"
"Now Thistle, just a drop."
"Oh Buckle, you better give me that envelope."
"Here it is, Thistle, but I have to be on my way, Peace waits for no man, Thistle—"
Thistle opens up the envelope. "Oh Buckle, do you know what this is?"
"No Thistle, a gentleman never reads his friends mail."
"It's a shopping list."
"A shopping list for the PM—tomatoes, liver, kidneys-- I know he has a new cat."
"No, Buckle." Thistle begins to read: "300 heavily armored riot vans, 6000 tear gas canisters, 5,000 heavy machine guns, 2000 grenades."
"No cabbages," says Buckle in a low voice.
Thistle tears up the formal document and throws the pieces into the gray London air.
"But Thistle, he was so well dressed."
Note: I discovered BuckleThistle while listening to the reports of the scores of British soccer leagues. This team, now forever dear to me, plays in Clyesdale League, those wonderful dear big headed, big footed horses who used to .do the heavy work of rural farming. In the spirit of Langston Hughes' Jess B. Semple, I offer the voices of these two new friends.