An Army of Lunchboxes
The army marches through the hail,
Every morning through the rain.
The army of small blue red esky lunchboxes,
Marching through the pain.
Each carrying snacks, drinks and sandwiches,
Made with love and care.
Made with a daily routine of routines,
With an apple, or peach or pear.
This esky is our tuckerbox, our lunch pack,
Our bag of treats of food.
It gets sat on, scratched, left in the rain,
Left in a deathly solitude.
Every day it’s the quiet protector,
Used by working builders, all big and built and buff.
Our esky is our quiet food protector,
Sitting steady, safe and strong and tough.
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