Milkman (5)

I like seeing him trundle by in his van. It’s an open van and I can hear the bottles rattle as he turns a corner. We used to see him in the supermarket on a Saturday. I think I’ve told you before, he looks a little like Bruce Springsteen. He was always buying the family groceries. Looks like a big family too. A house full of kids and he doing something else with his real time, a writer perhaps or an artist. My fantasy. It may not be true.

More poems this morning. I had to turn up the radio so I could hear them. An evening of readings, a recording of them with actors like Dan Stephens, Robert Hardy and Damian Lewis, wonderful. I am saturated with the First World War and rightly so. Work has dried up. I must wait. Mercury is going backwards and no one replies. Enjoy the peace, he says. Oh, let it be Ellen. Tomorrow the love of a friend. I so look forward to seeing her. Such a smile and a voice. Honey-ed tones.

Cleaned the flat, did the ironing, walked and it didn’t rain and I was thankful. Off to call her and then down to work. My work. Like the milkman. The proper stuff. Sans pay. Let it be. We have enough. There is always enough. Just trust that it is so. Eh?