Wearing black trash bags as shields
We enter into Orland’s
Icy-dew speckled corn stalks,
Plucking tassels out of their
Sockets. Pop! Goes the Weasel!
The sun soon blots up the fog
While horseflies hover around
Like helicopters missing
A wing trying to fight back.
Nitrogen irrigation
Stings our leaf-cut skin, rinsing
Our pollen dusted eyelashes
And washing our white sweat stained
T-shirts giving relief to
Our tattered bodies. It was
Worth it for my first one-hundred
Dollar paycheck at thirteen.
Giving us an all-telling
Waist up tan that announced what
We did for the summer. I
Claimed I wouldn’t do it again,
But I did.
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