Heavy bodies come in the front door,
wick away the day’s heat
and weight from their coat tails.
Onto the floor.
Their babies whining,
The children are hungry.
For more that just dinner.
For the slightest affection.
For a glance in their direction
For a hello, a kiss, a wave, a handshake.
That’s what the office folks do.
That’s what the labourers do.
It’s this how to get one’s affection?
Become an office worker, labour and trial onwards to make a life of one’s own?
Suffer enough so that you see the little ones?
When is it enough to be seen?
In a flick of an eye, a solomn gesture,
The desired moves away from the starved in time to whip up dinner.