The Tractor driver.

December 13, 2016

He always smells of diesel,
He has dirt under his nails.
Grease stains on his overalls,
straw when handling bales.


Oil dripped on the carpet,
mud on socks and boots.
Rags stuffed into pockets,
he's never in a suit.


Scratches on his fingers,
stains on all his clothes.
Penknife in his pocket,
chilblains on his toes.


Sleeves rolled up to elbows,
scars from welding tin.
String around his trousers,
ruddy weathered skin.


Parts of old machinery,
abandoned in the sink.
His dirty coats and wellies,
making  hallways stink.


He'd never make a banker,
in pin striped suit all neat.
With briefcase full of bank notes,
clean shoes upon his feet.


He is a tractor driver,
he loves to be outside.
Ploughing up the stubble,
he takes all in his stride.


So if you get impatient
behind him driving slow,
it might just be my husband,
so wave and shout “Hello”!
Jan Millward©



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