There’s plenty of work down south
hops, tobacco, fruit picking,
but not until late February –
almost 2 months distant.
The employment bureau gave me his number
tall, broad shouldered, bearded
looking for a labourer
someone to do some work,
“yakka” he called it.
My pencil physique causes out loud doubts
I tell him I’ve been working on a farm
“good – can you lift that ”
“that,” being a bundle of palings wirestrapped together
I can. And do.
“You’re stronger than you look.”
I tell him I’m only wanting six weeks work,
he tells me he’ll decide that.
“Start on Friday.” Today is Wednesday.
The year is three days old.