His day starts before light.
He wakes early, moves quietly,
eats quickly and leaves the house,
belly full but feeling empty,
body still aching from the day before.
Two buses to get there, dirty bright
vehicles filled with silent hopeless people
just like him. Clocking in, proving
that he is here, now, that he exists,
he changes into his overalls, pristine,
clean and white. They will be smeared
in shite by the end of the day.
He lifts things, because that is what he does,
what he is good for. All day, every day,
twenty times his own body weight
he picks up and carries and puts down.
Ten hours later he goes home,
two buses filled with chattering people
talking about their lives, laughing.
He cannot speak their language.
In the house, fed, rested, he smokes alone
in the garden, looking up at the dark sky
filled with stars.