You all work so much harder than I ever will

Chopping down cane

Or severing aloe leaves

With knives

Or what have you


The ultimate labor


The ones in the fields

Not the owners, who drive the tractors, but the Mexicans and Hispanics and Latinx first-generations

Who work dawn to dusk breaking their back, breaking their ass, to make money for their kids

In hope of a better life

My father drove a taxi in New York

With a college degree from Ukraine

After emigrating from the USSR to Panama. How he traveled from there to NY I don’t know

I’m a part of this whole first-generation second-generation thing

I’m second generation

Or would it be 1st?

I wasn’t born here

But even I am no match for the hard work of the Mexicans

This isn’t well written

Because they’re just notes for NaPoWriMo day 4

I think I missed Day 3

But think about how hard farm work is

And how little they get paid

And maybe you’ll believe in injustice

The real injustice is how I’m getting away with calling this a poem :3

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