The milkman – A poem – The Compostual Existentialist

There is a man
He is quite cheery
Every morning
When my eyes are bleary

He comes up the path
Whistling a tune
Be it Dark November
July or June

In his hand are bottles
White and creamy
He delivers the milk
While I’m still dreamy

Juice and eggs
He does too
Loaves of bread
Things to chew

He drives with stealth
And boundless care
Laden with bottles
That tinkle and flare (in the sunlight)

Tinkle tinkle
Tinkle tinkle
Tinkle tinkle
Tinkle tinkle

Milko is here!
Hark and waken!
Semi-skimmed, homogenised
Fresh things and bacon

Full cream, half cream
Soya milk too
I bet if you asked him
He’d sell you some glue

Whistling his tune
His bottles a-clinking
With milk on my cereal
I can do some thinking

I love our milkman
Though not in “that” sense
But he brightens my morning
As he walks past the fence

Author: stegzy

Once, long ago, I wrote frequently on Livejournal. I then moved to Blogspot, where I discovered that blogging requires an audience. So I moved back to LJ. Then over to Dreamwidth, back to LJ, up the road of self hosting with Muckybadger before giving up entirely and moving over to Wordpress. It was at that moment I decided I would spread my compostual nonsense simultaneously across the blogosphere like some rancid margarine. And so here I am. I am a badger. But then I'm not really a badger. I am a human. With badger like tendencies. I am a writer, a film producer and a social commentator. I am available for Breakfast TV shows, documentaries and chats in the pub with journalists where I am more than qualified enough to talk confidently about absolute shite and bollocks. View all posts by stegzy

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Author: stegzy