There’s a biscuit factory down the road from where I live. And on certain days, the whole area is filled with the sweet smell of baking. Today is one of those days. It always reminds me of when I lived in an old mill town called Batley, as a child. There was a biscuit factory there too. I’ve been meaning to write this poem ever since I moved into the area. Now I have.
The Biscuit Factory
© David Milligan-Croft
Today, the air is filled,
With the sweet aroma of biscuits,
From the factory down the road.
It’s a loving smell.
And always makes me feel
Like an eight year-old boy again.
Racing round the mill town of my youth,
On a canary yellow chopper.
Teeth chattering over cobbles
Sucking in the sugary redolence.
My mum used to work
At the biscuit factory – along
With half of the town.
And when she came home,
After a long, hard shift,
She’d flop down into her chair
And I’d crawl up onto her lap.
Burrowing my face into her bosom
The ambrosial scent
Still clinging to the woollen fibres
Of her cardigan.