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Their world
Its mother labours at a nearby construction site hauling bricks Her generous skirt swings in the midday breeze. She laughs with workmates. Here today, gone tomorrow. Her house is where work is. tarpaulin held together with strings. The other day I saw a temporary screen around a workers’ encampment. The town-dweller mustn’t be disturbed by the ungainly sight. Those who build houses live in another world. It is not our world. |
Matted hair, barefoot, the child
plays in the dirt.
