I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Saturday, June 12, 2021

I watch migrant workers tending crops

 

June 12,1972  (I was 27)

 

I watch migrant workers tending crops

row upon row they are bent over

strawberries cauliflower or cabbages

They arrive in buses condemned by state schools

The fenced fields are crowded by housing developments

Beyond the chain link is an apartment swimming pool

The last furrow borders a shopping center parking lot

These will be the final seasons here

The sun bakes dust  The workers wear straw hats

and neck cloths  Eight sheds with screen doors

stand in the center of the dry acreage  The bus

is parked there  The workers move

up the rows without straightening their backs

Local women wheel produce from Safeway

to their station wagons  Cars laugh by and leave fumes

If I stand here long I’ll feel suspect and dizzy

I can’t quite believe the mix  Business as usual

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