©Jan Millward, 2018

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Living the dream.

October 26, 2017

 

There's a hole in my welly
and I'm feeling damp.
The mucks seeping in
and my toes have got cramp.

 

I smell of stale milk
and wet brewers grains,
my jeans have a rip
and there's stains on my stains.

 

I dropped my new phone
when I scraped up the slurry,
I plunged in my hand
because I had to hurry.

 

And stuck up my sleeve
going green on my arm,
some of the stuff 
that you find on a farm.

 

There's poo in my hair
and it's dried on all crusty.
I find my old coat
and it smells stale and musty.

 

I slip in the yard
on thirteen's placenta,
and my jeans turned a shade
of deep red magenta.

 

My glasses are speckled
I'm struggling to see,
and all that I want
is a hot cup of tea.

 

My clothes are now damp
and I'm starting to steam,
and most wouldn't see
that I'm living the dream.

 

Life on the farm
is not like on the telly,
they don't show the muck
and you can't tell it's smelly.

 

They all wear clean clothes
and checked plaided shirts,
and wellies that never
get to see any dirt.

 

They don't show the times
when the sheep have got out,
or mention the language
and the things that we shout.

 

And everyone thinks
that we're all a bit slow,
and think that it's all
like they see on the show.

 

But we are the ones 
who put food on your plate,
even when we look rough
and our clothes are a state.

 

And that's how it is
when you work on the land,
take a new look
and you might understand.
Jan Millward©

 

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