Piquancy of Poetry

Poetry from Sussex in Delaware. Poetry to pique the imagination of 21st century men and women.<br /> Hands in the Field/Fields of melons<br /> Red tomatoes in view/We’ll pick under the blazing sun<br /> Straw hat to shade my pate/Skin tanned dark, turned leathery<br /> From years of work, in summer heat/This job sure as hell, ain’t neat<br /> Before the sun stands high/In the noon sky<br /> I’m weary, beat/No water or cola can quench<br /> My thirst from the dusty, dry/Sweat like a pig<br /> Smell like one too/Twenty-five of us<br /> Empty baskets piled high/At row’s end<br /> Three hundred acres/‘til we’re done<br /> No wonder my back/Creaks, aches<br /> I feel like a trained ant/Pulling the fruit from the plant<br /> To myself I begin to ask/Lord, can’t some of these baskets<br /> Fill themselves/While I shade myself <br /> Neath that tall, lonely old oak/I’m tired, weary folk<br /> This picking job/It’s a terrible joke<br />