There are those few moments
when they sit on the berm
around the Igloo jug trying to find
the shade from a spindly palm cut back
to almost nothing, the sun
etching the sky with a molten heat
that melts away the few clouds
foolish enough to appear.
One keeps an eye out
for the supervisor knowing
lunch is hours off and there are
no breaks until that half hour.
They heard someone wanted a law
to give them water and breaks
on hellish days like this but it died
as did one of the guys
on another crew, thin as a stalk
of withered grass baked to dust.
Every day the same for a pittance,
but enough to send something back
to the island where the family
assumes he is a great success,
but keeping enough for a cheap flop
and an occasional pint of whatever
the package store wants to be rid of.