southern beatitudes

by July 22, 2023 0 comments

Blessed be the tobacco fields
dealing pale green leaves for sweat
and blessed be the bossman
who knows exactly how many rows
before I break

Blessed be these aching muscles
snapping suckers
priming ripest fields
hanging leaves
hauling fifty-pound bundles
from over there to over here
and blessed be the farmer’s daughter
handing out salt pills, moon pies, and grape soda

Blessed be this John Deere gimme cap
tar-stained
worn all summer
working Mr. Jackson’s fields
retired
living on the shelf
above my desk
amazed I get to sit
air-conditioned in a cube
sending out reports
nobody will ever read

editors note:

Blessed be the A/C luxury of memory. – mh clay

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