Making mud pies with Vega
On a Wednesday afternoon,
When the thin Autumn sun
Beats a chilled, hollow drum
Whilst the diesel throbs in tune.
Carving the swales with Vega
Shaping the watershed drain,
Removing the mud
With our sweat and our blood
Out there in the sun and the rain.
Is a task not many take on,
But his gutteral shouts
And occasional pouts
Are just part of his usual song.
Getting the job done with Vega
Is an achievement you gotta employ,
‘Cos the lines are straight
And the levels look great
And old Vega is wriggling with joy.
The crooked eye of Vega
Crinkles with laughter and mirth
And his black Indian face
Laughs with Fijian grace
And his day is at peace with the earth.
It’s an adventure to work with Vega
Verbally jousting with someone you like,
Understanding his drill
Needs particular skill
In picking who’s wrong and who’s right.
The digger’s humming with Vega
Aerobatically, gracefully smooth,
There’s barely a pause
As the big bucket soars
Flying mud keeps the trucks on the move.
Ya gotta be happy with Vega
Professionally he has no peer,
For the job is tight
If ya sign language is right
But the overseer thinks you’re both queer.
Making bloody mud pies with Vega
At the end of the day you’re poked,
You’ve been up to the gills
In blue mud without frills
Throw ya a pie and a beer and ya stoked!
30 May 2009