A Man for Everything

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Image Credit: Freeimages.com

don’t know

if my Dad knew,

when he went to work

earning an honest coin

the house became

a refuge

for men.

where mum

got the energy

heaven knows?

from dawn to dusk

they came

wave after wave

Coal Man

Lemonade Man

Egg Man (Goo Goo Goo Joob)

Bread Man

Meat Man

Rent Man

Insurance Man

and the men who

you never had a clue

what they did man.

when the pit closed

Dad became

the stay at home man

and mum left with

the Money Man.

© Davy D 2017

 

A big thank you to Nigel over at Voices Of A Hidden Self and his excellent poem, A Town Called Guiseley. Both being Northerners, and of a similar age, his poem, and our subsequent conversation, brought back memories of  the days when there was a man for everything. Please visit Nigel’s blog and read and listen to his wonderful poetry. You will not be disappointed.

 

 

27 Comments

Brilliant Davy, seriously it reads like a McGough/JCC piece ! Certainly a fine example of the ‘Northern Style’.
I appreciate the Nod, thank you .

Liked by 1 person

This is spectacular, Davy. I so enjoyed this interesting intellectual piece ! It’s fun and it’s poetry. You know what I mean.

Liked by 1 person

This certainly resonates with my own experience. Reminds me of the old song ‘The man who comes around’. Now, of course, replaced by numerous apps and unsolicited literature. Thanks for posting, Davy.

Liked by 2 people

    A pleasure Roland and I suppose the modern version of this would be, The App for Everything. Interesting to think what poets are writing about today’s culture in the future.

    Like

Davy D, your poem does touch deep as it with speed tumbles on
telling such a long story. Amazing writing.
So, the money man in the end…..
/ miriam

Liked by 1 person

That’s a lot of men.
I barely remember the Milkman. And, of course, I remember the mailman.
Did the money man have money or want money?!
(((HUGS)))

Liked by 1 person

This was excellent. Very sensitively done and a step back in time. I remember the milk man very clearly in his crisp white uniform. And the hushed jokes about a neighborhood child resembling the milk man and not understanding the reference. I Don’t recall a coal man but heard stories from my mother about the ice man AND the coal man. I hope the Mum in your poem made her getaway with kindness and grace. Those days left women haggered an unappreciated. So I sympathize a bit with her plight. Davy, You have a gift for capturing the past, present and future in your poems. This one is a heartfelt picture with a bit of humor infused with sadness. A peek into the past…one where nobody really wins… thank you for sharing.

Liked by 1 person

    A pleasure Lesley and I kept the ending open deliberately. There may be a follow up. I was brought up in a mining community and my grandad spent 50 years working in the coal mines and I saw the hardships him and my nan went through, as well as many others. They stayed together but there were a few that didn’t and you captured part of that feeling in your comments. You words about no one ever winning hit the mark so thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

      I can’t imagine that life was easy for either men or women. I think of my own grandparents. They came to America for religious freedom and opportunity and then the Great Depression hit. My grandfather was a tailor from Poland, my grandmother a farm girl from Russia. They met in a garment factory. Eventually my Grandpa opened his own shop. His creations were magical. But my mother talked of him going door to door during the Depression and she would be in a wagon with him that he pulled. He’d mend clothing on their doorsteps to make ends meet. And yet the man I knew could make an old fashioned sewing machine sing. He’d put his initials in as a design in every zipper or pocket. It was true artistry. In the 50’s his stood was robbed and he was beat up and killed. He was such a sweet kind and cultured man. He loved violin music and I will never forget watching them waltz. My grandmother lived to over 100 and was bitter that her husband had the nerve to die on her. I thought of them as being so old. Yet I realize my grandfather was my age when he died. I doubt they could imagine me sitting back on my iPad typing out stories when each and every day of their lives was such a challenge. The coal mines? Holy cow! What a hard life your grand dad led. But it is lovely you can take your memories and put them delicately into a poem.

      Liked by 1 person

      That is a sad and poignant story Lesley, but one I would guess makes you proud. My grandad was a wonderful man. As a young boy I used to meet him on his way home after a shift down the pit. He would then take me into the local pub with all the other miners. They were hard men but blessed with humility and great inner strength.

      Liked by 1 person

      I can just picture them all in the pub at. Th. End of the day. Now that that deserves either a poem or a song Davy.

      Liked by 1 person

      I will work on it Lesley 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

A heartfelt story and so cleverly written, Davy.

Liked by 1 person

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