Building Site

This poem was inspired by observing building workers living on site in very rough, improvised shelters near my home in Saigon.

Happy family on the billboard:

mother, father, darling child;

this prime apartment their reward

in modern geometric style.

Two bedrooms, one on mezzanine

with en-suite bathroom, air con cooled;

green river bank a space to dream,

for exercise a chlorine pool.

From high above the building site,

conductor of the symphony,

the guiding crane, positions right

each block, each beam in harmony.

Minions moving much like robots

lift and carry, lay brick on brick

in heat or rain that never stops.

End of shift they shower in public,

a ready smile though life seems tough;

steamed white rice all eat together,

in shelters made from scrap sleep rough.

Might they never dream of better?

Author's Note

Is the meaning clear? Does the rhetorical question in the last line work well?