All These Things

There’s a three-piece suit
That collapses when you sit on it
There’s a Staffordshire bull terrier
That lies in front of a coal fire
The garden has a border with bundles of flowers
That never seem to fill the bare patches
There is a dusty old vacuum cleaner
That is used to sweep the carpets every morning
There is a battered old radio
That is tuned indefinitely to “talk radio”
There is an old shed in the back garden
Where the remains of a working man’s life are stored
– rusty hammers, boxes of nails,
– the smell of leather and wood
There are nice flowery curtains in the kitchen window
With a much treasured “bizzie-lizzie” in a pot
There are photographs of children on the wall
Along with a photo of a ginger tom-cat
There are two teak wall units
Passed on from a long lost relative who died
There’s a bed and a chest of drawers
That I brought over twenty years ago
There’s an old bucket by the back door
That’s filled with coal and a rusty shovel
There’s an old biscuit-tin
With musty old trade union cards and letters
There’s a little statue of a cobbler
That’s been painted silver all over
There are towels hanging along the stair banister
With an airing cupboard full of warm sheets
There is a handmade bathroom cabinet
Thickly painted in cream gloss paint
And all of these things were struggled and fought for
And all of these things are loved and hated
And all of these things are working class

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