The Digger Poem by poppy miller

He digs from dawn to dusk
One foot and then the other
Hips with Swiss movement
And a twenty year guarantee
Swing to the beat of his bluesy
Tune that swirls around his head
As he digs, lifts and hauls
His blade of steel nailed to
A shaft of wood.
His ragged overalls faded
From the overhead sun, hang loose
Spattered here and there with dry
Clay. His rough cotton shirt open
At the neck, is drenched in sweat.
A few dollars a day man working for
A black-eyed beauty with kisses
Sweeter than honey.

©
17/5/2016