A Cauliflower Farmer

He still stands
in the back row
with the traditional misery.

His plants
always get his carbon dioxide.
But his hope
trapped in the collapsed price
suffocates.

Farm Aid Package orbits
over his life
like a malfunctioning satellite.
His debt thrives
among the dream debris.

The farmers’ dry voice flames
in the street.
He too
throws his produce.
His cauliflowers scatter
on the road
like the baton-charged protest.


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