Truck Gardeners

They are weeding spinach today in the Italian gardens, The farmer, his wife and her children. Bare headed, bare footed. The wife keeps the youngest child in the row next to her; Next spring he will be five and given a row of his own. The woman’s black hair shines in the sun. She pushes it back with her dirty fingers, And goes on with her weeding Down the long even rows of spinach; Row after row, acre after acre.

They are irrigating tonight in the Italian gardens, The farmer, his wife and her children. Bare headed, bare footed. They start the water down each row with their hoes. The soft mud is cool on their bare feet after the long hot day. The woman’s hair gleams in the moonlight. The child clutches at her skirts as she goes Down the long even rows of spinach. Row after row, acre after acre.

The moon is shining in the Italian gardens. Each stream of water reflects the moon. The long rows of spinach throw shadows in the water. The moonlight glimmers among the shadows Down the long even rows of water, Row after row, acre after acre.