When I was Small way back in time,
We lived quite close to a very large Mine;
And I can picture my Grandad standing there;
Home from work with a disheveled Air;
Like a Scarecrow stood in a force - 8 gale;
Or Edmond Dantes fresh from jail.
When looked upon in the clearest light,
No specimen of Rags ever graced my sight;
For his Hair was covered in the thickest Dirt;
And covered his Face , his Hands and Shirt.
The dust from Coal was thinly spread;
From his Muddy Boots to his filthy Head.
The Jacket torn and begrimed with Mud;
With Trousers Stained and fouled by Crud.
Beneath his Nails the dirt was deep;
As were the Socks upon his feet.
The face Imbedded by Soot and Dust;
To a thickly layered earthen Crust.
The Teeth to which there were only Two;
Grew every which way with a Yellow hue.
And what's that Smell that assaults the Nose?
Like the substance spread to feed the Rose;
A pungent aroma to make one gag;
An assortment it seems of fruit gone bad.
So there he stands by the open door;
All things foul and something more.
And It seems to me as I've often found:
He was the dirtiest MILKMAN on the Round.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 31st, 2025 18:36
- Comment from author about the poem: No reflection on Both Granddads at all . My Grandfather on my Father's side was 'Gassed' in WW1 and disappeared: believed dead. When the War was over his name was put on a Memorial of the fallen. And then he just walked in his Home like nothing had happened. True.
- Category: Humor
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments5
Quite the descriptive and artistically worded image that in rhyme depicts a repulsive figure. All expectations of a coal miner dashed by the introduction of the word milkman. A fun read and a fave
Thank you and for the Fave.
Have a good week.
Most welcome
Never mind the relationship - glass bottles with silver top managed to separate the milk from the messenger...them were the days free of effete notions such as hygiene....
And free milk at Primary school.
Thank you for Reading.
Excellent work.
Thank you.
A fine write, and fascinating about his return. Nicely done.
Yes, Imagine seeing your own name on a Memorial.
Thank you for Reading.
We had the cleanest coalman ever don'tcha know .. his name was Cecil and he used to whistle like hell .. or like a kettle actually .. Your authors note was fascinating too .. Neville
Thank you. Yes he died in 1963, and I faintly Remember him .
Thank you for Reading.
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