Time
Three women sit,
cooking, eating lunch,
while the working team
shovels and pours cement,
pounds down the shapes.
At the door of the container
where wind swirls, it is cool.
Inside, the office part
and storage space for brick-making machines
is deeper in heat.
The women’s shoes are sensible,
like boy’s shoes,
cement splattered, shaped
to the work, speaking
of their place on this earth,
this work, hard lives.
We’ve had to wait for our meeting,
because cement, mixed,
waits for no one as it sets.
- Brian Walter
