In response to the 100 Word Challenge for Grown-ups:
In the dark recess of my mind, I wonder who’s not eating while I gorge on strawberries, nectarines, and peaches. Summer lovelies. Women raped in fields by their foremen or co-workers. Never tell. Mothers, fathers, children all evicted while picking fruits I swallow with delight. They work twelve-hour days for paltry pay, often shorted. Too tired and scared to argue, wanting respite from the sun, they trudge home to find their sole possessions thrown out upon the street, a red-tagged door: “No Trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted.” Exposed wiring. Holes in walls. Rodent infestation. Nowhere else to go. Juice courses down my chin.