On a forlorn corner
several squat
chalkfaced tuckpointers—each rolled
dolefully
into his ample overalls—suspend
momentarily
as I bend
and pass—
their monumental undertaking
to squander
and hoard
and move back
and forth
various
clay colored barrowfulls
of barrow
coloed clay and mortar—to presumably
crackwise
in a tongue
which is not mine—and then
to fissure
into fantastically encouraging smiles
and simple
peels of gentle steam-
dispatching
laughter—in one which
suddenly is.