Life as a Farmworker

Life as a Migrant Farm Worker


Celery, grapes, tomatoes,

low pay.

No recognition,

slaving away.

Over food I can’t eat,

only for others.


People take for granted,

the work that I do.

We need food to survive,

yet no one knows who.


Constantly moving,

place to place.

I work all year,

even though it seems like more.

Under the hot sun all day,

I seek the indoors.


Always away from my family,

my kids and my spouse.

Never living twice in the same house.

My life has been edited

although I have never been credited.


I’m invisible between the rows of corn,

that stretch for miles and miles.

No one can hear me.

No one can see me.


Times will change.

People will notice.

Conditions will get better.

Food will be eaten with appreciation.

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