Les Citrus, Pt. I
#19 of Poetry c.2019
A poem about a very shy and quiet citrus fruit farmer. A three-part series.
Les Citrus (I)
Pallor from the coming squall,
that chills you to the bone;
we tended the fields for Fall,
to bring food back home.
Too bitter to stand up,
the ground weighs you down,
with memories of a cup,
you had filled with a noun.
The sun has set on groves,
that you helped bring life to;
they turn off the company roads,
and neglect to invite you.
You'd gone through them each,
these lies they tell sweet,
like the pastor's early preach,
you ignored for your feet.
Comforts have all let be,
your time as an adult;
these are faults they see,
while you live without fault.
Drawing hearts in the dirt,
is today's last real chance,
to ease off this hurt,
that keeps you in trance.