5. A Builders Lot
Your basic builder
Belt and braces
Big black boots
With thick black laces
All in denim
They bend down
A flash of flesh
Old ladies frown
A concrete mixer
Orange turning
Scraps of timber
Bonfire burning
Stacks of bricks
Some are breeze
All smoke fags
They all wheeze
Days half gone
They ask for sub
Now all the builders
Fill the pub
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Added by Poetry Lover
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