The dry dirt crunches under foot,
A black coffee and esky in hand,
He strides towards the dusty shed,
Across the crusty land.
Smoke curls from out his lip,
And dances into the sky,
He gets to his stand, he limbers up,
A laugh, a cackle, a sigh.
In another life in the bustling city,
A man adjusts his suit,
Coffee to go, briefcase in hand,
As he pushes through crowd in pursuit.
He’s drowning in a soup of people,
They’re running and staring at phone,
It’s fast and it’s frantic, it’s furious,
They’re so busy but they’re so alone.
Back in the shed the stereo sings,
There’s banter and shouting and noise,
The shearers are tussling and sweating,
As they move with elegant poise.
The handpiece it buzzes and glides,
Wool peels off and onto the floor,
The rousie gathers and throws it high,
Through the air the fleece does soar.
In the boardroom the man is pacing,
He’s troubled, he’s twitchy, he’s tense,
A deal to seal, it doesn’t seem real
He can’t seem to make much sense.
His body is taut, his knuckles are white,
He’s sweaty and anxious and pale,
He wonders why he lost his soul,
When he walked into corporate jail.
They break for smoko in the shed,
It’s stories and laughter and pies,
A second to sit and share with the team,
Among ciggies and smoke and the flies.
There’s one fly in the office, it’s buzzing
He eyeballs it over the table,
His computer is frozen, just like his life,
He assures himself that he’s stable.
He eats lunch at his desk while working,
The emails just don’t seem to end,
He is typing and skyping and swiping,
Would be nice to be joined by a friend.
He looks down the corridor, hopeful
But they’re lost in their screens glaring white,
It’s relentless and senseless and endless,
It just doesn’t seem naturally right.
At the end of the day they are sweating,
One from physical work that is tough,
The other is stuck in a cycle,
He’s running right out of puff.
One pats his dog, smiles and drives,
The other walks in a daze
They’re both heading for home,
But one is free, the other is lost in a maze.