IMMIGRANT FARMER

A russet, sun gold, face.
Red earth beneath his feet,
Before he came to this place
With vehicles in the street.
He once saw the sky
Jet velvet, pierced by stars.
Now he wonders why
There’s just headlamps from cars.

The breeze on his bare chest.
Muscles taunt from work.
Once he gave his best,
Now all he does is shirk.
He lies on an unmade bed.
Through the window a slant of light.
It’s a worry how to get fed.
To survive is a losing fight.

Boyhood long vanished.
The home he knew destroyed.
From fields of youth he is banished.
In the West he is unemployed.
He recalls the taste of honey
Taken fresh from the hive;
It was free, but now it costs money
Just to stay alive.

High flats line the pavement.
There are shops and places to eat.
To own your home means enslavement.
If depressed you admit defeat.
He is told he is not trying,
But the natural world seems lost.
Now it’s all about buying,
But not how to bear the cost.

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