Sunday, January 11, 2015

THE HARD MAN TOM




THE HARD MAN TOM


On lino-d space for two plus six, an upturned bicycle takes centre stage
As patch upon patch upon another is glued.
Finished, he picks up a Reader's Digest, and flicks his way through, to the over-turned page
About the Second World War and the rationing of food.

Blackened by coke, he works, eats and sleeps....with his mate.... that vest;
Close to his heart as he stokes the train's fires; recalling the Digest and those bloody bombs  
On Sundays, a rest, a cup of tea in the bed, and Maudie his sweetheart, doing her best,
Her very best to separate those mates; so's to wash.... that vest of  'The Hard Man Tom.'

Horses won today, and face curls in around the door,
Smile means meat tomorrow, a pint or two tonight and maybe even  a bag of chips
But overalls stay put, his only suit on vacation at the Pawnbroker's once more.
Some Old Spice slapped on, works wonders on the face, and hands.....a quick lick.

Tonight, Maudie's coat goes on, and hand slips into hand;
They talk about the North Easterly wind and Jimmy mitching school that day.
Pub corner hot with jokes and song, squeeze in, so that 'The Hard Man' and Maud can join the band;
The 'Sad Sacks', they're called.....a bunch just like him, struggling to survive on their C.I,E, pay.








Maureen Walsh - January 2015



Part of a collection of poems called Tom's Cycle




Ciao for now!

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