Friday, August 15, 2014

Crop Chop

Crop, chop,
Yellow wheat piling
the hay flies everywhere
three little children laugh
as their grandfather pushes the mules around
Chop crop
Crop ready
feet steady
more laughter
and sweat
and money wet out of sweat,
Grandfather rests in the shade
now the sky's gone orange
crops ready
cropped to his waist he sits
all weary
What we consume,
consumes us.

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