The Farmer’s Hands

Wrinkled, cauloused

Deep valleys and ridges

Bloodied finger nails

With Mother’s soil

Hiding between um.

Boozy salt breath

Eyes that dissolve into

Crows feet clinging to

Man’s face. Same jeans

Farmer’s genes Ma and Pa

And theirs as well. Kneel to

Pray for rain today and the

Music fades to gray when

No rain came. Curse the clouds

Forming above. Scream at God

Where are you, where are you.

Collapse in dry field

Knees hit hardened soil

Man’s toil, knuckles bleed

From beating lifeless dirt.

Rumble, crackle overhead

The rains come and that

Farmers dead.

They rinse

Away humanity’s hand

Restoring some form

Of growth to the land.

Through the rust

And grim and years of time

Nature began to live again.

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