One works; the other sweats.
The other comes to Ben,
unraveling shirt and glistening gaze,
and he speaks as the sacks are
shouldered into the hopper.
Each shrug, each nod
comes from hunger.
Each shrug, each nod
dictates dinner come Christmas.
Ben responds,
a Tagalog melody dissolves into diesel and dust,
and both stare at cracks in the earth,
piston-whir and movable metal
playing to a backbeat of moos.
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