In the dream, we were still harvesting.
My hands were dark with dust
and bitter from the olives.
Someone laughed when I missed the basket.
(poetry)
Tag: Paul Herman
Farmwork required
strong hands and body
not the somersaults
of ABCs in the mind.
(No Place is Foreign)
The man
With the cash in his pocket.
Never less than a couple hundred.
You’d never know with what
He might be armed
At any given moment
Behind the charm.
(No Place is Foreign)
