For Milkman
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You visit my house in the early hours of every weekday morning. Before the sun rises to melt the frost stricken ground and the birds twitter quietly to themselves as they take to the skies for another day of song.
While people lie in their beds with their heads full of worry and despair, you float down empty streets wearing a blue anorak and thick gloves to keep out the biting cold that tease the end of your toes as you crack the frozen flags of another house.
Although your job may be simple.
Although it may be unrewarding.
Although it might be lonesome.
You make up a part of the routine.
Without you my coffee would be bitter.
Without you I’d be malnourished.
Without you I’d be missing the most important meal of the day.
So when I see you in the morning I’ll be sure to say hello.
And when you come round on a Wednesday night to collect your three pounds fifty, I’ll make sure you’re alright.
Because the bottle you leave outside my front door every morning isn’t just for my cereal. It’s a hello, good morning, let’s start the day together, and make sure it's a good one.
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