Milkman Poem by James McLain

Human souls...like..
night and day...rivers..
high and banked...
That give no thanks..
Streams..endless streams..
white and endless....
hair...tied back....
Modern day.....
she is a heroine..
Sitting down......
her wet soaked hands....
and talking softy...each..
she gently..
pulling up and down,
and out...for more..
Her slim long arms.....
like tan marble..
are sculpted...
and thick each wrist..
seeing both...
they are well muscled....
She talks...the trade...
her milk and butter...
for some flour...
bacon and fresh eggs..
and on the radio..
that croons...
a soft country song...
With smooth practice....
and they...
like most each heavy root.
loves her sweet long fingers....
as up and down....
she milks each stroke...
and to those ends....
as needs the why...
switching hands....
was after all...
what every one of you...
were after...