surly boys selling sausages

bored witless in my mid twenties

rootless caught by booze sex smoke

flitting between women’s houses

shack jobs where I never paved my way

to a future together

frittering money on motorcycles

living for the weekends

& nothing much else

because there was

nothing else

& then

I got a call: got a job for you

making tea & meals on the muckshift

cooking for the Irish boys driving big rigs

clearing the green fields for the motorway

to come

& there being nothing else to do

I stuck my thumb into the wind

clutching a leatherette bag

change of clothes jeans t shirts & music

to live in the dark end of Dave’s mobile home

that sat kitty corner in a patch of mud & green

to be getting up at 7.30 to cook bacon

eggs & beans for hard working men

lunch time meals afternoon snacks

in a green paint wooden hut on wheels

shifting to where the work was that week

finishing at 7.30 each night

& after a few weeks of good money

I bought my own mini mobile

had somewhere to breathe my own air

do my own sleeping in

tried dating the girl in the corner shop

whose ma’ sold me my supplies

though after a month we agreed

we were better friends than lovers

& never said our goodbyes

until many years later

other lovers

she died

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