Back in the days,
I worked full-time
catching grasshoppers.
They were never hard
to catch. I wondered sometimes
what good it did them,
the power kicks that soared
them through the air,
only to have them slam
head-first into the
palm of my hand.
I would drop them
in clear plastic bags
then join my colleagues
for a late lunch
at the sapodilla forest
where we climbed trees
as high as our guts took us.
We could never enjoy
a full meal.
After a bite or two,
our neighbor would come
storming out of his house,
stick in hand.
One by one, we would
jump out onto the
naked ground, plastic
bags in our fists,
kicking hard on the
field of wet grass,
hopping, soaring,
summer wind against
our laughing faces.
I worked full-time
catching grasshoppers.
They were never hard
to catch. I wondered sometimes
what good it did them,
the power kicks that soared
them through the air,
only to have them slam
head-first into the
palm of my hand.
I would drop them
in clear plastic bags
then join my colleagues
for a late lunch
at the sapodilla forest
where we climbed trees
as high as our guts took us.
We could never enjoy
a full meal.
After a bite or two,
our neighbor would come
storming out of his house,
stick in hand.
One by one, we would
jump out onto the
naked ground, plastic
bags in our fists,
kicking hard on the
field of wet grass,
hopping, soaring,
summer wind against
our laughing faces.