Dvorak and Dog Hairs

~

I’ve always been early to rise

even in those teenage years 

when I was madly in love and 

hadn’t been to bed for more 

than a couple of hours before 

my usual 4am Sunday start,

jobs in the village were like

hen’s teeth in those days

so, an hour each morning

before school and a long

Sunday morning delivering 

Milk through the village was 

a well fought for prize,

I worked for milkman Len

whose float, in my very 

early days, was drawn by

a horse, two Dutch barge dogs

Keeshonds I think, walked

either side like outriders

stopping alongside at the

right places in each street,

Sunday mornings were quite

surreal as once the float, a

three-wheeled early electric 

version, was loaded up, 

first stop would be Len’s

house for 5am tea and toast,

his wife would always seek 

to mother me with extra slices,

a vivid soundtrack to these 

dark Sunday mornings was 

the wireless, permanently

tuned to classical music, I listened

to Beethoven Liszt et al whilst

incessantly picking dog hairs 

from my clothing, peculiarly 

I always looked forward to 

this brief recital in her dimly

lit kitchen in what felt like the 

middle of the night

*

© Graham R Sherwood 03/25