“Pickin’ Cucumbers”
My brother, cousins, and I hated pickin’ cucumbers
Filling large baskets, watching out for snakes, consumed our summers
From early in the morning into the hot sun
For 3 dollars, a Red Rock soda, and a Honey bun
That’s right; Mr. Willie Gaine Rose was my worst enemy
So I thought; I now realize he was showing me dignity
You see, my maternal grandfather was from South Carolina
His life experiences gave him a real steel jaw
With Black skin, a 3rd grade education, and natural talent
By faith, tenacity, racism he was able to circumvent
Today, when I’m feeling somewhat defeated
I think of those summers on his farm heated
Pickin’ 5 acres of cucumbers with old socks for gloves
Damn, I just realized, it was all love
© Aron Prince 2009