Working in the Texas soybean
fields as a kid
under a blazing and insolent summer
sun
that tempted him with mirages
of
cool rippling lakes along the
horizon,
he dreamed of a future working
in an chilled, air-conditioned
office.
He’d sit in a cushioned chair
and wear a dark, clean suit,
and a fresh thin tie
instead of muddy, oversized
boots
and sweaty bandannas.
He’d have shiny black dress
shoes with black laces
and folded white handkerchiefs.
He’d wear a sleek watch and a
thin belt
not a thick one showing a man
riding a bull on its buckle.
He’d go to lunch whenever he
wanted
instead of having to eat when
the sun was at its highest
and when they were closest to
the car
that had everyone’s lunch
packed into a foam cooler in
its trunk.
He’d walk with a purpose
and smile at people.
He’d talk to strangers
and they would welcome it.
He wouldn’t constantly scan
the toiling soil
looking for thorned weeds to scissor.
He wouldn’t talk quietly to
himself in order to pass the time.
He wouldn’t wonder what
everyone else in the world was doing
at that exact moment.
He wouldn’t be ashamed to
tell his friends
what he did over the summer
because he’d have gone on
vacation
like everyone else
and not worked the fields
dreaming of a time when
when he would escape
the assiduous sun.
