This is my experimentation for a poetry class I’m taking using a real object combined with an abstraction:
Crushed beans
from the calloused hands
of a farmer,
Wishing for better wages.
Fair trade,
or a fair trade,
time for sufficient
existence.
No time for contemplation,
no time for thinking,
just doing,
wishing for aroma
of daughter’s
brighter future.
Somewhere in American
States,
where contemplation
afforded,
luxury of cafe,
thoughts of
scholarship for two
brown girls
who dream of
new irrigation,
no more irritation,
of papa’s callous,
tired hands.
A quiet cup for one
a river to trade,
of restful gold,
for three
Clay The Scribe 