Young Country Boy At Market – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

Young Country Boy At Market

The hand constantly raised to run fingers

Through the greased-down hair, betrayed

Self-consciousness. There was no stillness in

Him. All the other men, arrayed

 

In jeans or summer slacks, with casual shirts,

Relaxed now as they waited;

His immature young frame screamed in the loud

Checked suit, just like some animated

 

Tic-tac man from an old Ealing comedy,

George Cole, perhaps, though lacking

His style. The drain-piped legs, incongruous,

Were never still. And now, backing,

 

Off and swinging round, he might have seemed an

Object suitable for jeers.

But as we waited for the bids to start

I looked away to hide my tears.

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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Filed under Meet The Family, Other Folks Writings That I Like, Poem Of The Week, Poetry

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