A small boy squats beside a road
watches Father, Aunt, Uncle,
A rickety truck rolls by slowly,
the pile of bright red tomatoes jostling each other
to see which could stay on.
The Depression-laden adults
salt-shakers in hand, crouch low
as the truck struggles past, leap on the truck bed,
ride down the road, hidden from the driver by the fruit.
Silently, salting and stuffing tomatoes in their mouths,
until they are distant specks to the little boy,
before they jump off, return, sauntering toward him,
the blood of theft running down
free and laughing chins.
Published in Spill Words