Yes, there are a few who peruse my boobs
as I lean forward on the doorstep to delve
the green crates laid at my feet.

Then there’s the ones – usually the young lads
with the haircuts – who like to shower me
with endearments. Once had three

babes, two darlins and a rogue sweetcheeks
in a single delivery. And a substitution
of Wensleydale, they were out of Caerphilly.

Bottles clink invitation to quips and winks
– ah, yes, the important part of the order!
Other items are handled delicately: Tampax

hushed over the threshold under a cough,
often a momentary fascination with my socks;
I never open the door to them with bare feet.

Holly Magill is from Worcestershire. Her poetry has appeared in various publications, including Poets’ Republic, Ink Sweat & Tears and The Morning Star. She prefers cats and strong tea to most things.