Poem, Dirt Worker Blues

Oh, will it ever stop raining
At least long enough for the sun to shine
For my tools to finally stop rusting
For my tools to finally start working
The dollar is slim on these long wet days
When you make a living working in dirt
Too much rain is far from refreshing
When the crops sour in the mud soaked ground
As I look out the window into the black and blue clouds
Watching flashes of light and ice fall from the sky
I remember the year, the year of the drought
When the sun scorched all in its path
Cooking in relentless waves of heat
The crops stood in the fields lifeless and brown
Roasting in the midday sun
Day after day we watched the earth dry up
It cracked and flaked then blew in the lonely wind
Blew over equipment and rented out land
Blew over barbwire fence-lines and cattle moaning for food
Hopelessness called out in the life taking breeze of sand
Then the shadows crept in and covered the ground
As clouds finally started to form
The windmill creaked as the cool wind picked up
Finally rain came and gave us relief
The worry fell from my father’s face as he looked in the sky
If only there was a balance for the dirt worker blues
　


Published at Indigo Rising Magazine April 4 / 2011