My Milkmaid

My dad drove a milkfloat
he would take a break from work every morning
and drive me and Sally to school.
We'd sit in-between the crates
holding on to each other
on the country roads,
our lips white
like lip gloss.

When we were older the pints were beer
not milk.
Sally took me to her farm and we kissed
our tongues rattling
like cowbells.
After the night we spent together in the cowshed
I never laid eyes on her again.

Now I tend to drink my coffee black
and refused to let my daughter
be milk monitor.