WALKABOUTSVERSE 6 OF 230

Poem 6 of 230:  THE PICKER

While picking onions at Echuca,

    Betimes I came across a

Man who was, he said, by trade a picker.

A compact and stocky physique had he;

    Kind he was to first-time me -

Advising, “You should pick ‘em on your knee.”

And then he told me of his long-kept plan

    Of travel, by caravan,

To pick ripened crops, over a wide span.

But workers’ rates, I found, were not so fair -

    Twenty dollars a tonne, there,

Was all the onion-crop owner could spare.

Though (with the tally taken by some louse,

    And told to see boss or spouse),

Believe me, they lived in some kind of house.

(C) David Franks 2003

In ex-Newcastle-flat; 12/8/2012

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