MS (9th Nov 1963 / London SE13)

Ruth's Story

My old man’s a dustman,
He wears a dustman’s hat,
He sits in front the telly,
And that my friend is that.

He won’t sit up the table,
Or visit friends for tea,
So I sit all day and wonder,
What will become of me?

He collapses on the sofa,
Lights another fag,
Then he sighs and grunts a bit,
And takes a little drag.

For hours he lays sleeping,
He never takes me out,
I really get annoyed sometimes,
And start to scream and shout.

He says he’s always tired,
And it’s true he does work hard,
Though why does have to sit there all day,
Like a useless lump of lard?

Surely it wouldn’t hurt him,
To go out once or twice,
To visit different places,
Oh, it really would be nice!

Perhaps he could see the doctor,
Cos’ he’s really in a rut,
Though ever time I tell him so,
He does his bleeding nut!

Yes my old man’s a dustman,
And a dustman he will stay,
And as for being lazy,
I guess he’ll always be that way?

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Sounds like my husband Mark. Very amusing no wonder you didn't show your dad. Have a look at some of my poems and see what you think. Lesley
Mark, most enjoyable piece of work. Regards, Ian