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They laughed and sang and marched up the hill
Vulgar men drinking their fill.
We admired their dedication
as they fought their way
through rain and shine to earn their pay.
We watched and waited and wished we could be
so very strong and powerful as they.

Digging their picks into the soil
teetering on the edge of turmoil.
The epitome of man, uniform and stable
All in a day's work they are able
to lay their cards out on the table.
So brave are they to lead the way.

They shouted,, "It's time"
and passed the bottle hand to hand
falling drunk into the sand.
To wet their lips and sour their breath.
"Because we're men - take one last stand!
We've earned our wage!"
and they shouted, "AWAY!"
And so is the end of the working man's day.

Working Man's Day
Poetry
1988