Sixty

how do you measure labor?
ounces of sweat?
liters of tears?

we weigh the tea leaves here
on this brass scale,
sign of the libra,
and determine their pay for the
day.

a day under the
equatorial sun rays,
faces uncovered and
bodies darkening quick like
scraps burning on a charcoal grill

tea leaves plucked like
ripe blossoms, money in the
making,
hot steams, machine presses and
finely shredded shrouds of
to-be chai strewn
here and there on the
factory grounds

children running barefoot,
ABC's etched white
on silent stone walls;

hearts and heads
filled with the scent of
tea, no room left to
fall