pk.
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2011
- Messages
- 1,833
two old farmers in heavy suits
stand out in the open sun, in a mustard field
speculating about the weather, with hands in the air.
the ground is bone dry, the air thick and humid
I can see the fatter one brushing sweat from his brow,
the other swatting flies from his moist, sunken eyes.
these men are crazy I think to myself,
their workplace is out of their control, God is their boss
what drives these tough men to gamble their lives away?
the church in town is small, the graveyard big
and every summer it gets bigger.
when the crops die, the people die,
suicide is high in this town.
some people say suicide is cowardly -
i'd like them to say that to the face
of the poor, tough bastard at the bar
drinking his last drink.
stand out in the open sun, in a mustard field
speculating about the weather, with hands in the air.
the ground is bone dry, the air thick and humid
I can see the fatter one brushing sweat from his brow,
the other swatting flies from his moist, sunken eyes.
these men are crazy I think to myself,
their workplace is out of their control, God is their boss
what drives these tough men to gamble their lives away?
the church in town is small, the graveyard big
and every summer it gets bigger.
when the crops die, the people die,
suicide is high in this town.
some people say suicide is cowardly -
i'd like them to say that to the face
of the poor, tough bastard at the bar
drinking his last drink.
Last edited:
