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American Maize

“It’s not as good as ours” he said We stand looking at new brought trailer load Of Yankee maize viewed under azure sky Got from a silo in the town By road-sore tractor on road-sore roads “No, it’s not as good as ours. Look at all these husks and leaves. I’ll have to get rid of them Before I can mill them down.” By I, he means, of course, They Who long, hard labour for his pay Whilst he and I sit in humble shade And drink of coffee while they sweating sort The useful from the dross in that heavy load And feed the hungry maw of hammer mill With maize from foreign, far off land. He gazes at the work and load “No, no it’s not as good as ours” he says 24/04/1998
Published inAfricaCountrysideMemoryPoem

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