Medium of Exchange

Sweat under endless rows of rustling corn
sore hands, aching back, feet caked with field-mud
broken bleeding blisters growing to cold callous—
my hands still remember the handle of the hoe
heavy tool, meant to break earth, chop stubborn weeds
bite deep as a moldboard plow.

Whatever undergrowth under head-high corn my hoe, my hands missed
came back to haunt at harvest, spiny thickets stifling grain,
reducing yield, dragging down the standard of living
from beef to beans, from nourishment to near-malnutrition.
Corn for cash. Grain for grinding. The more to the mill, the more to buy meat.
Field labor for food. Callouses for corn.
Blisters for beef.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside