The ol` man – By David Thompson
Other dads were better than mine,
Mine wasn`t a dad I would choose,
Got home from work on his bike,
Smelling of fish dock and booze.
To a frosty reception at home,
For spending too long in the pub,
His dinner too long in the oven,
With the gravy all crusted up.
Never much brass to his name,
By pay day was pretty much skint,
The landings and tides ruled his day,
But the fish dock for him was no mint.
Shirt collarless, braces and all,
Darned socks and dyed in the wool,
As he crouched in front of the fire,
Giving his fag a long pull.
Was the anti-hero to me,
Not like in the books that I`d read,
But he did the best that he could,
To keep the family fed.
Though affection wasn`t his way,
Still, he tousled my hair one day,
But then to my lasting regret,
Saw his hurt, as I pulled away.
Met me mam in the “Rayners” pub,
An unlikely pairing at best,
In time, his liver had the last say,
With his bike clips, now laid to rest.
Note – In our house, as in many others in the 1950/60s, up North, dinner time was 12.00 noon.
A classic from David Thompson! Are you inspired to write a poem (or a short story) for publication on the Hedon Blog?
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