Somehow, we’ve lost it—
farmed-out the feeling
to new immigrants
and the less fortunate
at minimum wage, or to
more eager hands overseas.
We have forgotten that
we came from the fields
before horsepower spit fire,
and from the characters
bent dawn ‘til dusk
to get the harvest in—
all the monotonous
that fed the livestock
and themselves, back
when calloused hands
moved on their own
and our minds ran free.
