Home Delivery. Poem by Douglas McClarty

Herrings alive fresh hern!
Was the call in drumard drive
Then the milkman would arrive
Followed by the bread mans cart
The vegetable van on his daily round
The blockman, coalman selling heat
In the fifties they arrived in our little street
There was also the ice cream man
In his fancy cart
The man from India selling fashion
at the door
There was the lemonade man
fizzy drinks galore
All brought to our front door.
The insurance man he called
once a week
This all happened in our wee streets
The message boy from the grocers store
Chickens delivered fresh to be plucked
Peat was sold from a donkey and cart
Then one by one they all seemed to go
No fresh herrings to the door
No milk or buttermilk or fresh daily bread
Our home delivery's just went dead
Now we walk miles around the culprits stores
Looking at two for ones and sell by dates
Heavy trolleys pushed to the checkout gates
And then they invented home delivery