In response to the 100 Word Challenge for Grown-ups:
Today, I wonder who’s not eating while I binge on berries, nectarines, and peaches. Summer lovelies. Women raped in fields nicknamed field de calzon by foremen. Never tell. Mothers, fathers, children all evicted while picking fruits I savor with delight. Working twelve-hour days for paltry pay, they’re often shorted. Exhausted, too scared to argue, wanting respite from the sun, they trudge home to find their clothes, a doll, a book 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.