The Grapes

June 2, 2009
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Purple as the waiting dawn,
Waiting for the dirty, tired, souls
To pick their lives from a vine and
Pack it off for pennies on the dollar.
They hoof it to their train yard and
Cry, over the food, the kid’s, the grapes
Which rule their lives. The family flees
The gusts of Oklahoma sand whipping their backs
Eroding their past.

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