Milk

bristol

Our milkman died this morning. The cul-de-sac residents
were all left empty bottled on their doorsteps. No cereal, no tea.

Of course, it’s a tragedy. Our thoughts are with him,
with the family, with the next of kin, despite not knowing his name.

The trees will shed their leaves, patch the concrete and paths,
the sun will ascend, high and hot between the shaggy clouds,

the traffic lights will blink, the amber bulbs will flutter
above the busker who stands half-street half-gutter,

the sky will turn orange and then red and then black,
welcoming back the stars to the nightly earth show,

and the students will howl and bellow as they exit the pubs,
stagger through the streets slurring their favourite songs,

and they’ll flock the burger vans for chips and greasy grub,
they’ll wake up hungover and promise themselves never again,

and the night will howl and hush again,
and the sun will rise at dawn again,

and tomorrow, there’ll be milk on our doorstep.

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6 thoughts on “Milk

  1. I was that very milkman for a year or so long before the internet was dreamed of, and when milk came in glass bottles. There was silver top , gold top and red top and clever tits used to puncture the tops to sup the cream. I survived the job and moved on just like the world does , and when we leave it behind it barely notices.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you for sharing the insight – glad to hear you survived it! The world moves on, rightly so, and there’s comfort in that, I think. No pressure, no weight on your shoulders, you just have to enjoy the ride!

      Like

  2. I thought of the fastest milkcart in the west and Mrs. Hudson in an old Sherlock Holmes telling a grieving Nigel Bruce ‘what can’t be cured must be endured’

    we live in a time of tragedies large and tragedies small (some to be overcome, and some that cannot) but the world keeps turning and as Scarlett says ‘tomorrow is another day’

    Liked by 1 person

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