I looked up at the sky and could tell by looking at the sun that it was noon. Soon after I realized what time it was, I heard the foreman yelling that it was time for lunch. He was yelling his same old lunch time calling that he does every day at this time.

“It's time for lunch people. Take your breaks or I'll ram your shovel's up your ass!” The foreman yelled as he walked down the rows of working people.

It was lunch time all right, not a minute too soon either. I've been working on a farm this spring, me and about ten other people who can't find a better job. If the hot sun don't kill you, the pains in your back from shoveling all day long will. I don't know why in the fuck these people haven't heard of machines to do this sort of work, but if they had, I wouldn't have a job. My husband said that I had to get a job, we needed money for the family. He has a job, working over at Mr. Collins's farm, not too far from here. He bails hay and works with the animals. I'm not sure what of everything that he does, but he is usually working with the hogs or the cows. We've got two mouths to feed and I'll be damned if my kids will go hungry. I've spent many a night with a growling stomach because we only had enough food to feed them. That says something, because my husband will only eat if there is enough food left over after I eat. He's that kind of man, his wife and kids will eat before he does. Every now and then Mr. Collins will give Henry, my husband, a little salt pork. If we are really lucky, he will give us some milk and ham, but that doesn't happen very often. Mr. Collins is a greedy son of a bitch, he would fuck his own mother for a quarter if he could. Not to be mean, but that's how the man is.

Nobody gets rich working on the farms around here. One of the old black ladies I work with said that the only rich people around here are the mother fuckers who own the farms. I guess she's right, but I've never spent much time thinking about it. Everyone I know is poor. The richest person I know drives a thirty year old pickup truck that breaks down about every other week. He strolls down the dirt roads around here like a man in the big city would his BMW. He's a nice guy though, I heard he'll give you a ride if you can afford to pay him for the gas. I don't know, if we need to go anywhere, I call someone in my family to come pick us up. I don't call asking for a ride often, maybe once or twice a year. We aren't the type of people who take hand outs, never did like people feeling sorry for me.

Today we were planting potatoes, in a few days I heard we will be planting corn. Corn isn't so hard, I used to plant corn when I was a kid. I would poke a hole in the dirt with my finger and drop a seed or two in the hole. Keep doing that all the way down the row until it's done. I'd have a garden back at the house if I could, but I don't have time. When my kids get older, they will be the ones who take care of the garden. I guess they are old enough now, but I don't want to see them being put to work yet. I want them to be able to enjoy a few more years, now they should be tired from playing all day, not busting their backs. I've always hoped that they would turn out to be doctors or someone who makes a lot of money. Maybe they could get me out of the mess I'm in. I probably shouldn't think that way, but I don't have much hope for me and Henry. We'll never make enough money to live a decent life, one where we'll have enough food to eat. I don't look at the fancy things in life anymore, I don't even dream of a better life.

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