Fruta de le Vid
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(Fruit of the Vine)
As if they are part of the scenery
a sight for the tourists to enjoy,
woven into the manicured greenery
but under the vineyard's employ.
Waiting at roadside everyday
for a chance to harvest the fruit,
enduring the heat and the low pay
which he's unable to dispute.
Our secret citizen takes this job,
all the while maligned,
hard to imagine this better
than the life he left behind.
Calloused hands so dignified
and inked with a purple hue
the only willing hands for work
that we don't want to do.
Sweet irony that rich and poor
are dependent upon each other
for survival during a season unsure,
literally, blood brothers.
Each time before I sip my wine
I say a humble "cheers"
To thank him for his care of the vine
for his blood, his sweat, his fears.