Harvest machines drone, groan, churn, snort
Stuff their greedy mouths; corn stalks
Sticking out of their steel jaws.
Maneuvering like ants from the
Fields, fat trucks follow food trails of
Yellow corn to sky-high grain silos.
Under yellowing elms these shaded streets
Catnap with their legs crossed.
The sky above Julesberg High
Dozes in a turquoise hammock.
But the machines prowl across the fields
Their dust rising like smoke signals.
Drifting out of a nearby window the
Aroma of home-made bread, pies. Soon
Women and girls carry supper into the fields
To their sweaty men and boys who
Stuff their mouths with fried chicken legs.
Gulping cold milk they eye
Dark clouds in the northern sky.
Like slow hungry whales chomping
Sea grass, the machines eat up the fields.
The western sky turns on its side —
Flashing colors like a rainbow trout.
Soon the sun sleeps. Crickets chirp.
Yellow moon stares with wide eyes.
But these men, pointing their flashlights,
Prowling machines shining headlights,
Reap on, harvesting in the darkness.