Wool Classing

You must think quickly.
Be decisive.
Enough Butts, everything ready?
They've started.
Music's up loud and the bellies are off.
The first fleece hits the table
You inspect while you skirt.
Rousabout rolls it toward you.
Your cold, early morning fingers,
Enjoy its warmth.
Check the staple length.
Sound?
Yes, mentally note the VM.
Pick your bin,
Tentatively, 
It may change when a few more are off.
The pace is rapid.
Fleeces lined up at the end of the table.
The rousabout throws amiss.
The pressure builds.
The lines are now in place,
but its go go go!
Until the cut-out is announced
By the cutting off of Slim in mid-song. 

The Woolstore

Hundreds and hundreds,
On their sides almost bursting,
Rounded bases potruding.
Wool bales from across the Monaro.
Merino and Crossbred.

Butts lying open, contents cascade.
The smells of sweat, dung and fleece.
White, cream and yellow piles,
Long and short staples.
The fine and the doggy.
Locks, lambs fleece, pieces and bellies.

Cordained off, the testing equipment.
Bales on rollered benches,
Pierced!
Extracted cores in locked bags.
The forklift,with alarm peeping,
Reverses.