The Tinkers
You cannot say tinker now.
It's simply not allowed.
If we are to be PC.
Not stand out from the crowd.
I love the way tinker sounds.
Memories from my youth.
Shrouded in woolly blankets.
Scary to tell the truth.
Turf fire smell and welly boots.
Bare legs beneath long skirts.
Strange accents from strange places.
It made them seem uncouth.
Wooden wagons on winding roads.
Cartwheels clanking in a row.
The clip clop of horses' hooves.
Their campfires all aglow.
"Spare a copper for the wane,"
is what they used to say.
The baby tucked inside the shawl.
Perhaps another on the way.
You cannot say tinker now.
That's a word from long ago.
A proud people with unique culture.
I was there, that's how I know.
Copyright © Jean Murray | Year Posted 2018
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