Clocking on.

Over

all

in

overalls.

Front buttoned

shop coats

and

headscarves.

Overlockers.

Overlookers.

Time served.

Time

and

motion.

Clipboard

and

stopwatch.

Piece work.

Consulate coffin nails red

stained

tips.

Sweary

fiery

lips.

Mangled language

in

mangled

mouths.

A terrible

thing

to

suffer

the scourge

of

nay-sayers.

Strangers to themselves.

Home birds.

House proud

in

a

hovel.

And him a lustrous no nothing

YTS (Yes to shagging)

boy.

Surprised

to find

himself

absolved

and

never more

at home.

The silence of those who trespass

against us

keeps

the

conversation going.

In weathered faces

each new hurt

a

rivulet.

Her

and

me.

Us

and

them.

Clocking on.

Fucking off.

Peace work.