we had quite a few visitors to our house.
Those who entered were friends of my aunt,
my mother, grandmother, and me.
The milkman came in once a week to be paid.
He had a leather satchel and a little electric van.
Others didn't come in:
the buttermilk man with pony and trap,
the pig-swill man with donkey and cart –
no, I'm wrong : he often (or always ? I can't
quite remember people I took little notice of)
went through to the kitchen to pick up
our bucket of peelings and leavings -
and then brought it back to be washed;
who came every week and received a penny or tuppence;
brush-man came once a year, and sometimes
thin Witnesses, and smart well-fed Mormons...
the Electoral Roll officers, and, every ten years,
the people who gave out and collected
the census-forms. Needless to say,
none of these now go to that house, or any.
Where I live now, apart from the firemen
selling their Christmas calendars
(whatever you want to pay),
just one friend comes to visit
and only moths and shield-bugs come to stay.
Quite soon, a stranger
will come to carry my body away.
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